


Therapeutic Retelling

by RafeAdler



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Anger Management, Diary/Journal, M/M, Multi, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Recovery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8257327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RafeAdler/pseuds/RafeAdler
Summary: There are ways to recover from traumatic events, ways to figure yourself out and sort yourself. One way is through therapy journals. Describing emotions, events, working things out. When in a bad place, writing from a prompt can help to work out emotions.Our subjects are Rafe Adler and Samuel Drake. They have complicated history. Their journals tell their stories.Alternating POV chapters, the rating will likely change.





	1. Entry 1: Rafe

**Author's Note:**

> Hey quick information is I write short chapters but a lot of chapters. This is my first time writing for this fandom otl I hope its good

xx/xx/201x

 

“Journal therapy is primarily used with people in therapy to increase awareness and insight, promote change and growth, and further develop their sense of self. Through various writing prompts and activities, a journal therapist will guide a person in treatment toward his or her goals. The act of writing things down often relieves tension and can bring clarity to the issue at hand.” *

 

            I didn’t want to do this. In case anyone gets their hands on this, I want that to be clear. Normally activities as mundane as journaling bore me - I already have to keep various schedules and it’s exhausting. My life and all of it’s events are already recorded in many formats, why I am doing this I cannot fathom. But my therapist for my anger? He disagrees and says that this will help me. Now, he also gave me a list of suggestions on what to write about regarding my “issue”. I’m not interested in that.

            “Therapeutic Journaling” includes addressing the problem and, according to the doc, getting release and understanding and clarity. Again, I don’t believe in any of that, but he wants me to. So here are these documents. I assume someone is reading this simply because people aren’t really knowledgeable on what privacy is. Just remember these are private, confidential thoughts reserved for me and, on occasion, my therapist. But I am aware someone is always watching, always reading, nothing is really that much of a secret.

            My name is Rafe Adler. I was the inheritance of a great amount of wealth, as well as a business of various corporate businesses and stores. This was always the official standing in my home. Just a little exposition for you, doc, in case those details weren’t completely mentioned.

            I’m not interested in getting into my childhood. From a young age I knew that I had a responsibility to our family name. Adler was important - it carried a weight to it that I didn’t understand for most of my life. I grew up secluded from other children. This isn’t to be dramatic, I did not regret it, nor do I feel any remorse for my younger self. My education was from bright minds my father hired to visit our home. I trained and worked hard and studied hard most of my days. I was meant, in my father’s words, to be a “classic Adler with little emotion, a lot of wit, and a good poker face.” I like to think I hold up to that standard.

            There was one part of my interests that did not fall under the Ideal Adler list. I inherited it from my father, however. While the Adler name was running businesses, corporations, and dominated its field, father was also an investor. This was something I picked up on quickly in my education, as he let me observe from a young age his business dealings. This is something important to what happened. I’m not supposed to miss any details or neglect any information, so this is a backdrop for my problem.

            When I was thirteen I began to dabble in business myself. I wasn’t yet ready for running the main business, nothing like that. I saw how my father handled his investing in different ventures and I began to look into my own. I met with all of my father’s contacts so they could put a face to a name. At first, none of them took me seriously, but eventually they began to see that I was an Adler, a person to be respected and feared, but who could pay handsomely for their troubles.

            This is where the part that my father didn’t like came into play. He was all business. The investments he made were all business related. Companies, inventions, ideas, anything that he thought could earn him money he invested in. He was good at giving out less money than he brought in from these. But I didn’t see the point in that. Collecting money for no reason, I mean. We already had so much, it was beyond my understanding why more was necessary. I was always interested in things like history - I excelled in the subject, and whenever my teachers brought in artifacts it was enticing. So I began to line up investments.

            The steps were tricky. Starting at thirteen, I managed to get word around that Mr. Adler was looking to invest in excavations, tracking ancient items, and scholars and translators getting into the field. They would go to a meeting with my father, who would always be dumbfounded that these middle class grave-diggers were asking him for money, and he would send them away. As they left with disappointment I would intercept them. Having already heard their proposals, I told them I was the Mr. Adler looking to invest and that I was interested in their endeavors.

            The process was easy. It was small numbers of money in frequent intervals. My father wouldn’t notice the amount I was taking out of his business accounts. Even if his financial advisors noticed, they would trace the withdrawals from me and drop the investigation. I was the son of the “Big Man”. Nobody was going to say anything about me. And none of my investees seemed to mind getting multiple donations. To them, the small amount I was giving them was more than they had ever heard for such a venture on one payment. In return for the money I received credit in the discoveries as Mr. Adler, received payment with interest, and whatever the item was sold for, or the exhibit price, I received a cut of the share. Thus began something normal for me. I was busy with physical training, education, and investing.

            When I was fifteen my greatest adventure entered my home.

            I remember sitting and reading. I could hear the door to our home, because I was able to creep onto the balcony almost directly above the door. The paths to lead to the balcony were gone, under construction, but I was able to slip along the walls and sneak my way across and onto the balcony. A lot of the furniture was still there; we weren’t interested in moving them. I hid all my history books under a tarp, and I would tuck myself behind a little bookshelf with a flashlight and read. That day, the door opened earlier than I had expected it to. I knew one of my potential investees was arriving that day, but this one was ahead of schedule, ready to get things started. A servant was ushering him to my father’s study. I was peeking over the railing and watching. I didn’t get to see his face but I knew if I didn’t move quickly that he would be gone. He had wild brown hair, rough clothes. He looked like a street thug. Father would kick him out the moment he laid eyes on him.

            I got down from the balcony by the time the shouting began. My father liked to shout. That’s something that the Adler family likes to do. I try not to, but sometimes my temper gets the best of me. Even then, I work on keeping my voice at a low calm demeanor. I hated father’s shouting. I never wanted to shout.

            The man walked out from my father’s study and I can recall that moment as though it just happened. I almost feel like I am fifteen again. Rough features, mischievous eyes, that smirk. I was breathless.

On another note, I was by that point aware of ~~my sexuality~~ ~~my interest in~~ my preference in men. This was something only I knew, something I had not shared with another soul.

He was beautiful. His eyes met mine and I was amazed. Nobody had looked that fascinating to me. He looked incredible. He looked human. He looked human. That’s an amazing statement, but it was true to me. Even today, it’s still true to me. That smirk of his didn’t disappear when he began to walk by me.

            He just gave me a little nod of recognition and began to move on his way. He didn’t seem at all bothered that his proposal was rejected before it even began. I noticed he didn’t even look prepared for a presentation as others were that I invested in. No papers, no boards, no discs, nothing. His hands were in his pockets and he walked with a lazy stride.

            I stood there, still and stiff, and I felt a little dizzy. He was almost out the door when I turned. The door closed behind him before I got the courage to run after him. Never once had I run for anyone like I did for him. I sprinted to the door, opened it, and I was almost running into him when I caught up. He turned and looked me over, and he laughed at how nervous and energized I was. “Calm down, kid,” he said. He touched my shoulder. He was a person who liked physical contact and spoke to people like that. Normally I would move away, but he was so enticing, I did my best not to lean into his hand. “Now are you the big investor? Seeing as I got thrown out, here you are…”

            I nodded. I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt tight. I wanted to speak but I knew that I could hardly make a sound. We watched each other, this man full of amusement at my current state, myself embarrassed by it. When I managed to calm myself down, I gestured to the gardens. “Walk and talk?” I sounded weak. My voice cracked. I hated it.

            The man’s eyes narrowed as he grinned. “Sure, kid,” he said.

            “Mr. Adler,” I corrected. I loathe being called kid.

            “Right, right, Mr. Adler.” His voice was so taunting. It was infuriating already. And exciting. “So, let’s talk.”

            It was hard to pay attention to his proposal as we walked. I was walking through beautiful gardens with a handsome man. Me. A boy who had only left his home on occasion with family and never got to explore the world beyond a text book map and photographs. A boy who was in the world but not of the world, standing next to a man who was definitely of the world. He smoked beside me. Normally the smell was repulsive, but since my father smoked worse than him, I didn’t mind it as much as I usually would have.

            His name was Samuel Drake. He was amazing.

            He told me all about his project with his brother. Uncovering information about the Gunsway heist. He said that he thought there was some artifact in Panama that could lead him and his brother to it, and that they would find the treasure from the heist and I would get a share. He then mentioned to me that he thought there was more to the treasure than they knew, because they only had so much information. But he was certain they could get their way to the treasure if I helped to get them into a Panamanian jail.

            He was unlike any other man who approached me for investing. He wasn’t asking much for money. He was asking for my contacts and my assistance. He did not seem that interested in me personally, at least not in terms of this enterprise. I asked him if his goals and what he wanted were above board.

            His answer was “More or less.”

            “I want in.”

            He looked surprised, but I couldn’t stop myself now. Samuel was someone who tugged at my interests. Parts of me my father and I tried to suppress, it was all bursting. I was going to be some rich nobody. That’s an odd way to put it, but that’s how it feels. Adler, who inherited his family fortune and did nothing to earn his place. Adler. That’s all I would be. Rafe would mean nothing. Rafe would be forgotten. Rafe would be dropped down the drain, flushed away to become a murky feces to my existence.

            I needed to escape that future and prove to the world that I was me. I was whole. That I was human.

            “If you want into Panama, I’m going with.” I remember that scared, shy voice was gone. I upheld the Adler Standard. Emotionless, commanding. Put on the poker face. “You need me to make sure the deal stays strong. I’ll work with contacts, get you and I in there, we’ll find what we need, and get out and continue.”

            “Look, kid-“

            “Mr. Adler.” I corrected.

            “Kid, Adler, whatever,” Samuel replied. “This job isn’t going to be fun and games. I’m not sure what you know about prisons or treasure hunting, or-“

            “I can learn as much as you,” I said. I looked him in the eye, and he knew how serious I was. I could see the surprise on his face. “I know how to defend myself, I’ve been taught to fight. The Adler name needs a force behind it. I need to have protection but I can protect myself just fine.” I kept my eyes locked on his. They were beautiful and full of life. Were my eyes like that? I always worry my eyes look dead. Dead like my father’s. The Adlers are always dead. ~~We’re almost like zombies~~. “In any case, you won’t get my money unless you agree to me accompanying you.”

            Samuel watched me, trying to gauge my face. He wouldn’t do well.

            “How old are you? Seventeen?”

            “Fifteen.”       

            His eyebrows raised. “You’re younger than you look,” he commented, then his arms crossed over his chest. He looked as though he was facing an internal battle, and I waited patiently to see what side of him would win.

            Finally, he spoke to me. “If you promise me you’ll keep by me and Nate, my brother, you can come. We’ll keep you out of trouble.”

            My heart swelled a little, but the mention of his brother already made it crash. I fancied this man. Naturally, I didn’t expect him to be interested in someone my age. But I wanted to know him more. I wanted to be around him. I wanted him. I didn’t like the sound of a “Brother” involved. Brother or friend was no good. Those two things got in the way.

            “Does he have to come with?” I said. “It’ll take more time to get three people into Panama than two.”

            “Without him, there’s no deal, kid,” Samuel replied. He tapped my forehead, and I batted his hand away. He looked amused. “This is something my brother and I have been working on for years. We’re not gonna just separate, okay?”

            “Fine.” I would have to keep this Nate away from Samuel and I as much as I could if I could help it. “Give me a few months to get contact to Panama, and come by here with whatever information you have so I can secure everything.” I bit my lip a moment, and regretted it, because Samuel’s eyes flashed. He was reading every movement I made, trying to break my poker face. He was more observational than I had anticipated. “I will be sixteen by the time I am able to finalize everything,” I added. Samuel still looked nervous about the age, but that seemed to ease him a little. After all, sixteen was better than fifteen.

            We parted ways, and the next few months I met him time and time again. Most often he would come to my home and we would sit outside the gardener’s shed, him leaning over a table of files, maps, books, and tell me everything he knew about what they were looking for. Most days I got lost in watching him. Tan skin, nice tight shirts showing the muscle underneath. A working man. His hair was always wild. I wanted to feel it between my fingers.

            I still do.

            Samuel was the reason I got into the mess that required me to go into recovery. The reason I need to be back in therapy again, fixing myself. Maybe father was right, maybe I needed to be blank and fit the Adler Standard. But that meant no Samuel Drake.

            There’s no fun in that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * “Journal Therapy”. GoodTherapy, 03.08.2016, http://www.goodtherapy.org/learn-about-therapy/types/journal-therapy . Accessed 10.10.2016


	2. Entry 2: Sam

xx/xx/201x

 

            Okay, so Nathan says I should work on keeping track of everything going on. Sullivan agrees. They tried to give me some stuff to do that better with, but I prefer the good old fashioned way of writing this shit down.

            I did some research with Nate’s girl, Elena, on ways I could use journaling to ~~work on help me with   fucking hate writing sometimes goddammit~~ figure out some stuff I’ve been going through. There’s some therapeutic journaling type stuff she gave me, along with some prompts for writing, stuff like that. I’m gonna ~~bbe fuck this I should not be writing in pen~~ be doing this one day at a time.

            This is the little intro to remind myself.

            Thanks, Past Sam.

            You’re welcome, Future Sam.

 

“Name a compassionate way you’ve supported a friend recently. Then write down how you can do the same for yourself.”

            I’m gonna be basing this all around one thing, I guess? I dunno Nate suggested it. I think he kind of knows what’s up, but I don’t really want to get into it with him, so he thought I could use this to write down my thoughts. So this prompt, let’s see…

            I was real good to Adler when we first met. I mean, I was always good to the guy, as best as I could, when I could, but this was ~~important to me~~ someone I knew I needed to be nice to. I was going to get some money and help on the Panama job. At that time, Nate and I were sure there was some information about the Gunsway heist in this one prison. See, it had a lot of old ruins in it, we knew that. We just had to figure out where the ruins were, get ourselves in there, and bam! We find the treasure or a clear direction to the treasure. Nate and I were planning this for years. I remember it so well, spending hours and hours, days and weeks and months and years, all trying to get into this little prison. I didn’t think it would do us well to actually get arrested, we needed connections. None of our connections did the job. Nobody was interested in what we were up to.

            Then came some boys who thought they knew someone who could help me out. They told me there’s this big hot shot, the owner of all of that Adler Corp. bullshit. They said I could arrange an investment meeting with him. That I didn’t need to worry, it would all be covered. I asked about the guy and they said they were paid to keep things quiet about Adler. I asked how a big hot shot could be kept quiet. They told me it would make sense when I got there. One added not to be upset if I was turned down – it usually started out that way. Which was a little weird, but hey, I needed any chances I could get.

            So I tell Nate about it. There was this guy who would be interesting in funding us. At first he was excited, but then when he heard the Adler name coming out of my mouth he stopped. ~~I mean~~ ~~I get why, they’re rich bastards~~. He and I hashed out some of the details right then and there. Get the money and contacts, get into Panama’s prison smooth, get out. That’s how it was to go down. Simple.

            I had to wait over a month before I could get a meeting with Mr. Adler. And I had to go by some fake names. It seemed that when I was searched by my actual legal name, they weren’t very satisfied with what was being shown to them. But that was fine, I had some fake names for this kind of thing. Nathan didn’t usually do that as much – if anything, he only used ones that other people provided for him, the kid never did it himself. But I didn’t mind getting his papers. So long as they looked legit, that was good enough for me.

            Anyway I’m getting off track. So I get to ~~this house~~ fuck that it’s not even a house it’s a fucking mansion. It’s a huge place. There’s fucking gardens the size of my apartment building?? I mean who the fuck even owns a garden that big? I get up to the place and the moment one of the weird butler people sees me, I can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t excited. Not by some guy obviously not from this lil rich bitch district. But I give him the ID and he looks at some papers and mentions I’m early. I asked if that was a problem. He just looked defeated and said no, the big man has room in his “oh so busy schedule” to see me early.

~~There are like 10 fucking steps to the front door Jesus Christ~~

            The place is big. I mean if the garden was my apartment building, this was like the fucking Empire State Building. Okay not literally, but it felt pretty close to it. No single place for a FAMILY should be this big, that’s all I’m trying to say. Anyway, butler guy lets me in. The place is gorgeous. Light fixtures all dolled up with glittering jewels, the lampshades for some of ‘em look like they’re worth more than I am. There are pieces of furniture that look like they’d never been touched – but they also didn’t have one speck of dust on them. This place looked like the entire world couldn’t afford to purchase it from the Adler’s. I don’t know if I’ve seen so much riches in one place at that time. Of course, stealing from dead people was easier than stealing from the living, so I preferred to avoid that.

            The butler guy led me up some steps to go down a hall. Something about meeting Mr. Big Shot in the study. I didn’t really care, I just wanted to see if I would get rejected like I was told. I kept telling myself not to be disappointed if it happened. Apparently it’s supposed to happen. Whatever the hell that means.

            Well, turns out, the guy was right. I got into this big study, but only a few steps. I didn’t get to take a look at all the books, the big stain glass windows behind a massive desk. The man behind said massive desk looked like he was a skeleton. Not literally in the skinny sense; he looked dead. I was amazed when he began to move. His eyes were cold and unloving and unfeeling. Hair all neat and tidy. Everything was neat and tidy. ~~It was inhum~~

            This guy didn’t look happy to see me either. While his face was blank, that dead stare got angry. The sight of me is obviously really repulsive to richies. I don’t mind that, though. If they can’t appreciate my looks, they don’t deserve my personality.

            Anyway, I won’t get into his shouting. I don’t remember half of it. It was kind of boring. Though I remember I laughed and thanked him for being a royal dick and I left. Butler guy didn’t even follow me. I saw how to leave. There were plenty of workers watching me and making sure I didn’t touch anything. Adler boy would probably have them clean up everywhere I stepped when I left – get the gross lower class off his rug.

            I get down to leave and by the front door is this man.

            Fuck, he’s not even a man yet.

            I thought he was.

            I knew in an instant he was an Adler. Those pompous clothes. Those dead eyes. His eyes looked even more dead than Mr. Big Shot. This man must have been his son. I almost felt bad for the little zombie. When I got closer his eyes widened and he stared. His expression was blank, but the fraction his eyes widened were clear. He had gorgeous eyes. He wasn’t really my type, but I’ve always liked his eyes. Blue and brown, going from a dark chocolate at the center to this gorgeous icy blue at the edges of his iris. Even though he thought his blank face was good, though, that little eye movement made it clear to me.

            Mr. Big Shot wasn’t so big after all. This man here was Mr. Big Shot.

            He didn’t say anything as I passed him. I wondered if this was a part of the routine. But I didn’t stop, I made my way out. I didn’t want to catch attention.

            I was right that he was Mr. Big Shot. The man comes running out, stopping me. His cheeks are flushed, he doesn’t even speak to me. He can barely even look at me. It was easy to tell he had a bit of a crush.

            But eh, rich brats weren’t my type. Rich was good, but I figured this man was a little too pampered for my taste.

            When I asked him if he was the big guy to go to, he just nodded. He continued to stare, and he looked like he was looking at some wonder of the world. I felt a little flattered, actually. Wondered if he got out often. Judging by how I was a natural miracle, probably not. He wanted to talk to me. His voice was so weak and nervous. It was funny, kind of endearing. I began to realize he was much younger than he looked. He looked almost twenty, maybe even a year or two older. I pegged him at seventeen. When we went to walk and talk, I asked him. He said he was fifteen. Seventeen was the youngest I would have thought him, so this was news.

            I didn’t like to bring kids into things. Even growing up, when Nate had to get involved in anything, I didn’t like it. He was in his twenties by the time I met Adler, and I was still nervous about my little brother.

            This was a kid. But he was convincing. And I knew lots of people who got the Adlers involved and benefitted from their money and expertise. This kid knew what he was doing. He even made a convincing argument about why he should come with.

            What’s most important is I saw life in his eyes. The boy seemed haughty, confident and stern. Like a small version of his dad. But when he began to talk about coming with me and Nate, saying he could defend himself, all that? I saw something spark in those eyes. There was life in that shell. I wanted to coax that out. Maybe this kid could be more than what his parents were trying to make him into.

            I was surprised when he shut down. Nate came up and this kid, Adler, he didn’t sound at all thrilled. I could detect a hint of anger. He hadn’t even met Nate, why he was mad about him was little confusing for me. When I convinced him to be okay with Nate, I saw he was far away now. The fire in his eyes died out, he looked dead. Whatever living being was in that body had crawled back deep and hid itself away. It was strange to see how he could just become like a drone. ~~I wish there was an easier way to describe it. I feel like a dick calling him that.~~

            Anyway, back to the prompt. Meeting him, and giving him a chance to do something out of his comfort zone. ~~That’s what I did for Adler.~~ That’s what I did for Rafe. He was cooped up in ~~that house that big ass mansion~~ that house for so long, and he was so dead, I was helping him to experience life and adventure and something exciting. I remember visiting a lot to figure things out. And he was slowly coming out of this little shell. Little by little, walls broke down. But he wasn’t ready to give up all that just yet. I didn’t mind.

            He kind of reminded me of myself when I was his age.

            A kid with something to prove.

            I didn’t live with his luxuries, but the more time I spent there, the more I realized that even lavish lifestyles can come with their own struggles. Rafe Adler was barely keeping afloat. ~~I was help~~ Nate and I were helping him to shore.

            Now for the second part of the question. How I could help myself.

            To be honest, thinking about all this tired me out.

            I wanna help myself by getting a beer and a smoke.


	3. Entry 3: Rafe

xx/xx/201x

 

Reflection

                In my first entry, I regarded how I met Samuel. I talked about what my life experience was like in my household. What the Adler name meant.

                Reflecting now, reading it, I realize there were many things unnatural about how I behaved during that experience. Not with Samuel. My family and my following their robotic behavior. Even though Samuel dragged me into the problem, he kept me from that. I never thanked him for that. And despite how my father viewed me so clearly as a tool to a goal, I think I can forgive that. His father had done the same to him, and his father before him. The Adler family doesn’t know any better than to keep trying to wreck their children. My father had my interests in his mind, though. That does not mean that I should have allowed it to occur. And I am thankful for Samuel, and thankful for my own persistence that I didn’t allow that to happen.

* * *

 

                I left off my last entry discussing how I met Samuel, and the plans to enter Panama. The months during and after that event were stressful. This was one of the riskiest investments I have taken. And I was going to be at the center of it all. I didn’t have many contacts in Panama – there were a few who could get Samuel, Nathan, and I into the country without much money trouble or hassle. I was lucky that the Drake brothers didn’t require much gear to bring with – most of it could even be provided in Panama for cheap. I spent months writing emails, making calls, sending letters, hard at work extending my reach over the prison of interest. Samuel talked a lot about it. I remember the thrill in his eyes when I managed to get clear blueprint of the prison. His eyes were aglow, and he gave me a look of appreciation that made my stomach flip. His looks always made me nervous, but in good ways.

                As I was trying to get into contact with the warden, Vargas, I found myself having to meet his brother. I had put off such a venture for as long as I could, but Samuel insisted again and again that I meet him. So Samuel insisted I come visit for an evening. In their apartment.

                I didn’t know the city well, and I had to more or less sneak off to go and visit them. Samuel gave me direction enough, but I felt like I was prey as I went there. I had someone drive me quite a way, but as we left the section of the city mostly inhabited by “pure blooded aristocrats” I walked the rest of the way. I wore my least elegant attire. I remember the musty air, the slight fear in my chest. I kept it cool and got all the way to their apartment, where I was buzzed in. I had never been into an apartment before, and it was interesting to finally see where Samuel lay his head.

                The apartment was technically Nathan’s. Samuel didn’t have anything officially under his name, but he gave Nathan some money for rent, which he passed to the landlord. I learned this all much earlier than meeting Nathan, as Samuel is a very open man and complains very loudly about his troubles. Not that I found that problematic – I was always interested in what he had to say.

                Nathan Drake wasn’t the most unpleasant person I’ve met. He was just as charismatic as his brother – apparently it ran in their family, ~~as much as being an emotionless vacuum runs in my own.~~ He wasn’t as touchy as his brother was – I liked that. He made broad gestures, spoke quick. He was so much like Samuel, only he seemed more down-to-earth than his brother. Samuel Drake was usually up in the clouds, dreaming and yearning to fly. Nathan Drake was content scavenging on the earth and finding a fortune to tell his story. As I did. Which I didn’t like.

                Nathan Drake was my competition.

                Nathan was attempting to make food as Samuel let me up into the apartment. I remember the stink of his cooking. The food was actually decent, as I can recall, but the smell was horrific. As Nathan worked, Samuel showed me their little home. It was so different from my own. I couldn’t understand how anyone could live in such a small space.

                Samuel laughed when I made a comment about that. “Wait until we get into the prison,” he replied. “Things will get more cramped than this.”

                Nathan had a room with a small bed and desk and bookshelf all crammed into it. There were so many files, books, maps, so much filled that room there was hardly any walking space. His bed was already so little and it was half covered with junk. Samuel was in a room that was meant to be an office. There was a futon and another desk, just as messy as Nathan’s. Samuel didn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest, though I was a little surprised by it all. Nobody in my household would have tolerated this disorganization. Yet these two seemed to like it. They practically harmonized with chaotic clutter.

                Most of the evening we sat in the living room and talked and ate. I listened to the two brother’s talk. Eventually I stopped listening to Nathan, and my attention was only on Samuel. He had watchful eyes, a smile always on his face. It never left his features. Even when he wasn’t explicitly smiling, I could see it in his eyes, the flourish of his hand, the movement of his head, his legs, his back. I didn’t know someone could smile with their whole being.

                “So, Rafe,” Samuel dropped the talk about Avery and the Gunsway. “Today is a very special day.”

                I remember the day he invited to me to their home that I made him promise not to do that. This was the first promise he broke. I had instantly grown uncomfortable, and I tried to tell him in the best way I knew how to not bring up the date.

                “Shut your damn mouth.”

                Samuel laughed and Nathan looked just as amused. I liked hearing Samuel laugh, it helped me relax, but Nathan still made me on edge. His presence was disturbing for me. If it had been only Samuel and I, then I would have likely found myself laughing at how horribly I responded. ~~Nathan Drake was disgusting~~.

                “Come on, Rafe,” Samuel stood, arms in a wide gesture. “You can’t get away from the Drake house on a day like this and not get a birthday present.”

                I suppose I didn’t write previously that my birthday was that day. I was sixteen. It meant little to me, but apparently to the Drakes, birthdays were an important event. At most my mother would give me a nod of recognition on this day. She probably forgot that I had a birthday at all if not for the servants who kept our calendar reminding her.

                I sat there on their sofa, plate in my hand. This was a humble setting, with humble people, but I did not feel above it, strangely. I still don’t. Samuel left the room, Nathan began to clean up the dishes. He took mine. I cringed a little when our hands touched. I don’t like physical contact with Nathan. He seemed to notice, and withdrew a little friendliness. He was still trying to be kind to me, but he was quick to learn that I would not be reciprocating his advances. I wasn’t interested in friendship. I was interested in Samuel.

                That night I was given a little package. Samuel sat on the sofa next to me, leaning close, prompting me to open it. I didn’t understand the purpose of the item in my hands and I explained that to him. He and Nathan exchanged looks, looked at me, and shook their heads.

                “You’re sixteen and you haven’t had a birthday present?”

                I explained I understood the idea of what they were, but that I did not understand the purpose. No, my parents never did anything like this. Samuel kept pitting me with questions, and as I held the parcel, I felt cold. I felt numb.

                My memory somewhat gets blank in that moment. Many of my memories are clear and vivid. I have always had an excellent memory, so many details are available to me even today. I am not sure why. But moments like that are blank for me. They happen now and again. The only thing I can recall after that is Samuel’s arm around me. I don’t think I was quite leaning on his chest, but he was comforting. Nathan was saying something to me but I wasn’t listening. I was holding a notebook in my hand.

                Well, it wasn’t quite a notebook. It was very old, worn and dusty. And, to my surprise, nothing was yet written in it.

                “That’s a journal made in the Seventeenth Century,” Samuel said. “I found it once. Be really, really careful with it. It’s fragile as hell. But it’s still good. I figured you could write about our adventure in it.”

                I remember my throat tightening. I was holding something that old in my hands. I ran a hand over the cover. It was actually an old item. An artifact of sorts. I had always seen photos. Glimpses. I had never touched one. Now I owned one.

                I tried to thank him, but the words were caught in my throat.

                Samuel seemed to understand, and he just nodded. “Now, we also have something else for you.” He nodded to Nathan, who was the one to leave the room this time. “You gonna be okay enough for cake? Can’t have you blanking out like that again.”

                I nodded, setting the journal aside. I remember feeling lightheaded, but thankful that Sam was physically supporting me for some time. Before Nathan got cake ready, I excused myself to the bathroom. It was down a tiny hall just by Samuel’s room. I went and washed my face, and lavished in the cold water that stung my face and eyes. It helped jolt me into reality. I like the cold. It makes me feel alive.

                Before I went back I stopped outside Samuel’s door. I waited a moment, then went inside. I could smell a hint of smoke, his cologne, and I could just smell Samuel. It made me feel good. I spotted a pile of clothes. He didn’t have a closet or a dresser. He stacked them all in a messy fashion, but it was obvious each pile was for something different. I picked up a shirt. I smelled it. It had Samuel’s scent all over it. Comforting, pleasant, safe. I folded it and managed to hide it on my person. I don’t believe he ever saw that shirt again.

                I sat in quiet next to Samuel and we had some cake. It was, to my surprise, delicious. Of course, they didn’t make it. I didn’t trust either of them to know how to make a cake. But I enjoyed it all the same. I listened to Samuel tell jokes and stories, lost in his voice and his smile and his eyes.

                I remember in that moment, memorizing all his features, committing it to memory, wishing I wasn’t sixteen.

                Samuel drove me home. He had a motorcycle, and a spare helmet. I pretended it wasn’t securing right and I got his helmet. It smelled of him and cigarettes. I never adored the stench of smoke more. I held onto him, and my whole body felt warm. During the entire evening since I arrived at the Drakes’ apartment, my face was neutral and blank. That classic Adler face. But when I had a helmet on, my arms around Samuel’s waist, leaning into him and huddled up as he drove me home, I was smiling. I couldn’t stop smiling. My heart was beating fast; I wonder if he could feel it hammering in my chest against his back.

                I wanted to stay like that forever. I wanted it to last as long as I could. Samuel was warm and rough and gentle and exciting and I knew early on that I was deeply infatuated with him. I longed to be older. He always looked at me like I was a kid. A child. I was a child. I was sixteen, I wasn’t even close to an age for Samuel. I had to keep going and get there. And I needed to keep Nathan out of my way so I could do that.

                He let me off his bike a few blocks away from my home. I returned his helmet, which he switched to. The scent was still in my nose, and I felt dreamy. My face remained expressionless, but I couldn’t mistake Samuel’s chuckle.

                He noticed anyway.

                “What gave it away?” I asked. My voice was soft.

                “Your eyes,” he said. “You let way too much show.” And he left.

                I remember that so clearly.

                I didn’t have dead eyes.

                I don’t have dead eyes.


	4. Entry 4: Sam

xx/xx/201x

 

“What always brings tears to your eyes?”

 

            Something that always made me feel like shit was Rafe when we had first met and known each other. Not that he was the one making me feel bad, nothing like that. There were just so many things about the kid that made me feel bad for him. He was always so quiet, and when he did speak he looked like he was pressuring himself to have a stuck up attitude. I’m sure some of that was actually natural, but it didn’t seem to suit him the longer I got to know him. And he had that dead look his old man had, and that didn’t suit him either. He didn’t look to me like that rich boy type, even though he dressed and acted like it. Something about him seemed ~~as down and dirty~~ down to earth as I was. He looked too neat. Not the way his father did. Rafe Adler rarely looked like himself, he looked more like a copy of his family. I wanted to ruffle up his too-neat hair, unbutton some of his too-clean shirt, untuck that damn shirt, wear the watch wrong, scuff his shoes, get him looking natural.

            And those eyes.

            For a while they seemed so dead. He would just watch me in silence, make a little remark, and even if he DID give me a smile, his eyes were lifeless. They were like that for quite some time.

            The first time I saw life in his eyes for more than just a brief moment was when I went to visit him and he was giving me news on some of his contacts. I had to tell the kid to slow down sometimes, he was talking so fast. Rafe got a lot of things figured out already with contacts, and they were all preparing for our trip. The only thing he had to do now was secure our places in the prison. He complained that the warden wasn’t getting back to him or answering. He actually complained. The rich kid had always talked about problems as though they were a mild inconvenience money could solve. This kid was someone I met suddenly, complaining and insulting and getting energized. His expression was mostly neutral or aggressive during conversations like that. In his eyes, I could see he was aflame.

            It would always break my heart whenever that light got snuffed out. Whenever he got notified that his father needed to speak with him, whenever he met up with me from doing some business affairs of his own. If his lessons didn’t go well, I could tell because he looked empty, blank. He retreated back into himself whenever I had to leave. He got cold as I departed, and didn’t give me much response. It was like he resented me whenever I had to go.

            Rafe Adler is a heartbreaker. Just not in the same ways as most heartbreakers.

            The worst was his birthday. Nathan wanted to meet him, I wanted to do something to surprise the kid. So one of the days we were looking at one of the maps alongside some journals, I asked Rafe what he was doing for his birthday. It’s fun to rile him up. The kid must have easily thought that I forgot his birthday was a thing, because he had already explained to me days before that he wasn’t doing anything for his birthday. Which by the way is a total fucking crime?

            Nate agreed to my proposal that we do a little celebration for Rafe at our place. Nate would figure out the food, I would figure out the gift. I made Nate promise he wouldn’t try to make any cake or anything – last time we tried that the landlord was furious with the disaster in our kitchen. The solemn oath was made, and I went around thinking about presents as Rafe’s birthday came closer and closer. I would poke and prod at Rafe, trying to figure out what he would like. But I didn’t want to make him suspicious, any hint of the word “present” or “gift” or “birthday” and he would retreat and bail on me. I couldn’t have that. It was an important day! And hey, he was turning sixteen. If he has to spend a birthday with the Drakes, we can at least make it thoughtful.

            ~~I knew money wasn’t gonna be something I needed to concern myself with.~~ I wasn’t gonna get anything pricey. Everything I would think of, my guess is Rafe already had it or could get it with just one word. I wanted to give him something that actually had a meaning to it, and there was one thing I knew he wanted that he didn’t have. His family liked whatever the newest thing was, and always had it. It was extremely clear to me that Rafe wanted ~~something a little older wow that sounded gay~~ anything related to history that he could get his hands on. He was so thrilled about going to Panama, and he even showed me all the books he had been collecting of just historical events, items, anything. I knew getting him something like that would be my best bet.

            So, naturally, I dug around the apartment a few days. We had lots of old junk lying around, but I wanted to find something that could mean something to Rafe. It would be unfair just to toss him something old and with no point. Yeah, cool, he’s holding some old coin, but look at all the money he has, a coin probably wouldn’t do much for the kid. ~~Whatever I got him had to be as perfect as he was.~~ Nate and I talked about a few things, but eventually I found it among his shit. I had swiped a nice old notebook from the seventeenth century. It was old and worn. It wasn’t a famous journal or anything, it was empty, and the only information about the guy who constructed it was that the most famous he got was the local area he lived in. It wasn’t a huge find, but I knew that Rafe wanted something to be his that wasn’t new. And he was so excited for the Panama trip, I knew this would be good for him.

            It was practically like taking a blood oath to get Rafe to come to our place. ~~Because Jesus the kid was way too serious.~~ When he did come to the apartment, I was a little surprised, actually. He didn’t seem like he wanted to be involved at all.

            Nate had asked that day if we should have cleaned up.

            Screw that.

            I want to see the rich little brat in the middle of a middle-class-mess.

            When he arrived, I knew by the look in his eyes that he had some concerns about our apartment. He gave Nate a really minimal greeting. I wanted to heckle him for it, but I couldn’t bring myself to. So I showed him around the place, and watched as his face never changed. But his eyes said it all.

            Those pearls were lit up, looking around, fascinated. When I showed him Nate’s room, they started off repulsed by the mess, but slowly he got interested. His eyes were practically glossy when he saw my room. I knew the kid was interested, but I wasn’t bothered. Too young, not my type.

            He barely spoke a word when we ate. I tried to keep things lively, and we talked about Avery and the Gunsway. Rafe gave me his full attention, and I worried that if I did the same we would leave Nate in the dust, so I did my best to include both of them. Rafe did as little as he could to engage Nate, which wasn’t the best thing to me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get Rafe to involved himself more than he had to with Nate.

            Then came the birthday. Rafe looked absolutely disgusted when I mentioned it. I saw him steal glances at Nate. He obviously didn’t want people to know, even if only Nathan was the other person in the room. I insisted that he needed a birthday, and I got his present. He held it awkwardly in his hands. I used some shitty wrapping paper, whatever we had left on hand basically. He just stared at it. I prompted him to open it but he just told me he didn’t get the point.

            That was such a crime when he told me presents weren’t a thing in his household. What, you don’t get a happy birthday? No presents? No hugs? No celebration? What about cake? You haven’t celebrated your birthday even once?

            I was so caught up it took me a while to realize he had practically grown slack. Nate nudged me during my questions and it brought me back to reality, and I saw Rafe staring blankly ahead. He was glossy, like someone had unplugged him from the outlet and he was waiting for the next time he got power. I touched his arm and he didn’t react. His grip on his present was weak ~~, and he looked like a robot~~. After a bit of prompting, Rafe began to open his gift. He still looked hollow. Whatever was there when he arrived, it was gone now. After a bit I worried he would pass out so I put an arm around him and held him steady.

            To my surprise, that caused his eyes to light up. He began to grow tense. A good kind of tense. His body looked weak when he closed off, so this was good. His grip tightened, and he was looking down at the journal. His eyes sparked. Rafe Adler came back to life.

            He leaned up on me, and my heart almost broke. A kid who never knew what it meant to celebrate his own life, his own existence in this world.

            The rest of the night we just ate some cake and I told stories and jokes. Nate tried to be friendly, but he also gave Rafe some much needed space. Rafe looked exhausted, eating his cake slow, but his eyes were back and full of emotion. When we looked each other in the eye, color filled his cheeks, though he must have thought he was keeping all that down pretty well. ~~Problem is the kid was such an open book~~.

            I brought him home on my bike. Right before I was going to leave, I saw it in his eyes. The kid was in love. And I knew, I know, who for.

            I couldn’t stop myself from chuckling. To my surprise, he didn’t get all mad or darken or retreat. He looked amazed, in awe, something like that. This conversation I remember so clear with him. “What gave it away?” he asked me. He knew I saw. He knew I knew. He wanted to know how much his eyes gave him away.

            “Your eyes,” I told him. “You let way too much show.”

            His expression was of admiration, of pride, of joy. For a brief moment, that neutral expression was gone. As I saw it return, I turned away and left. I wanted to leave with that expression on his face fresh in my mind. I wanted to leave with that look in his eyes memorized. I’ve never seen those dead eyes since.

            Rafe Adler’s story and who I met is what brings tears to my eyes.

            I also get tears of joy.

            After his sixteenth birthday, I never saw those dead eyes again.


	5. Entry 5: Rafe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you nerds for the lovely lil comments I love seeing how my work is received otl I hope this is okay for ya'll.  
> Also I am a strong support of the "Rafe is short for Rafael" headcanon so heeeeyyyyyyyyy that comes up.

xx/xx/201x

 

Reflection

            Samuel actually cared about me. It’s always surprising to me when I realize that. Even back then, he showed an interest in who I was. It wasn’t even about money. Sure, he wanted my money, my contacts, my help. But no associate would take the time to celebrate something as trivial as a birthday. I even have to recognize Nathan, even though that pains me. The Drake brothers really cared about me that day.

            That was also the first time I felt really, _really_ alive. When Samuel told me that my eyes gave me away.

            I don’t want to talk about that anymore.

 

            My next distinct memory about Samuel was when we were in the prison. Getting to Panama was easy – thankfully those boys actually had passports, I didn’t have to worry about taking care of any illegal business on that end. There was no smuggling. Just an easy flight. Though it had taken many months, I had finally gotten in contact with and gained aid from the warden of the prison of interest, Vargas. He was a lowly man, putrid scum who I wasn’t happy to be involved with. But Samuel’s thrill for actually going to Panama swayed me enough to speak with Vargas. Bribes took place. He got the files and told me. There was a guarantee he wouldn’t look into it, and the man was being paid enough that I earned his trust. He even would ask for more money, and I was happy to oblige. It barely cost me a personal cent, I had enough in the banks for two hundred Panama trips and bribery. Not that he needed to know that.

            Once we arrived, everything was precise. There wasn’t much to be said about it. If I must write as many details as I can, we managed to sneak our way into a little local jail in the area, disguised as transfers to the prison of interest. We were tucked away in the back. And needless to say, I was blessed.

            In the prison transfer bus, people crammed wherever they could. I was painfully aware of the people staring at me. Of all the men on that bus, I was clean and well kept. Nathan and Samuel blended in with little issue. To make sure I wasn’t prey to any advances or violence, Samuel kept close to me. After a short time, it became clear to the other men that they would have to go through him to get to me. In that prison bus, I was pressed up tight against the window. It was crammed, sweaty, it was disgusting. For a while I wondered why I wanted to come on this trip. I had barely slept, I was terrified, hungry, sweaty and annoyed. But when I would look to the side, I was reminded of why I was there at all.

            Samuel was right there, his entire body practically on me and shielding me from any looks from the men around us. He also had to be that close because there were three of us in a tiny bus seat, and he happened to be crammed in the middle. His chin was on the top of my head, and for a while I complained, but he was unapologetic about it. Nathan was right in front of us. Most of the time he and Samuel spoke softly. Lucky for them, of the prisoners, we were the only English speakers, and they could talk fairly freely of Avery and the Gunsway. On the downside, all the other prisoners instantly hated us for it. Another bright side is Samuel looked intimidating enough not to quarrel with. And he knew his way around Spanish, far better than Nathan or I, so he gained respect in many different areas.

            There was a point when Nathan and Samuel grew silent. Both men looked out the window, Samuel had both arms around me. One over my shoulder, the other loosely over my chest since he had to lean so much. His head was heavy on mine, and I could tell he was watching out the window. He would always move away a moment whenever I had to shift where I sat. When I would turn my head I would see his throat, his collar bone, and the slightest dip of his shirt to reveal dark chest hair. I was fascinated, I wanted to explore him, know every part of him down to each hair. But that wasn’t a reality I could be in, so I satisfied myself with watching the sweat rolling down his skin, listening to his heart when I leaned more against his chest. I wasn’t comfortable falling asleep in a dirty prison bus, but I found that with Samuel there with me, I was able to relax more than I thought I would have. ~~When the anxiety would return to my body, I would focus on him, keep my eyes on him. He was safe.~~

            When we arrived to prison, I had everything arranged perfectly. I claimed that I did the best I could to keep us all together, but that only two people were allowed in a cell at maximum. That much was true. But I happened to bribe Vargas a little extra to put Nathan in a very different area from Samuel and I. Of course, I got Nathan the least hostile cell mate there was, according to Vargas. I paid even more for that. I wanted Samuel on my good side, after all. But I was bubbling with excitement. It was easy to keep it in, but now that I was aware how well Samuel could read me, it made me nervous that he would notice my thrill at sharing a cell with him.

            ~~Of all the things that would excite me, and it’s sharing a prison cell with Samuel Drake.~~

            Vargas had us go to his office the first day, upon arriving. He wasn’t the most pleasant man I had met with, and he was not as friendly as his correspondence had led me to believe. He was bitter, angry, and he liked to yell. Samuel instantly kept close to me. He knew I hated yelling. ~~He knew so much about me just from little cues I gave off and mumblings of my family.~~ Vargas explained to us that he couldn’t get us into the old section of the prison right away. We needed to establish our presence here for at least a week, so the guards would get used to us. Based on our plan, Nathan was the one who was actually going to the ruins, so he had to establish himself as a trouble maker. Samuel, the information broker for our little troupe, was to befriend the locals, keep everyone off his tail, and wait for Nathan to deliver.

            My job was to survive and keep making payments.

            When we were shown to our cells, the men currently in theirs were taunting, shouting, hollering. I’ve heard worse yelling at home. I held my bed roll and one change of clothes, following just behind Samuel. When someone tried to reach out to grab me, Samuel stopped and grasped their wrist and twisted it so hard I heard a crack. The guards shouted and shove him and hit him, but he didn’t seem bothered. He just gave me a classic smile.

            He made me promise to stay close to him during this and I intended to deliver.

            We got to our cell and watched Nathan go ahead of us down and out of sight. I was glad to be finally rid of him. The guards closed us in our cell. New blood was often kept in the cells for extended periods of time to remind them of the reality they faced.

            Samuel seemed a little overexcited for my tastes. He immediately claimed a bed, set out his mat and climbed onto it. I set my things down on the bed and took my own seat there, watching him. He was laying on his stomach, and his dull blue shirt rode up a little. He had everything I would imagine of a working man, physically speaking. Strong hands, strong arms, strong stomach and sides. My eyes must have lingered too long, because he laughed.

            “Now, don’t go getting any ideas kid,” he said.

            “Rafe,” I corrected. “And don’t worry. I wouldn’t even imagine having any ideas about you.”

            Samuel seemed amused and shrugged, letting his arm drop off the side of the old bed. His fingers grazed the floor. “So, a few days in here, get what we came for, get out?”

            “I’m already working on a way to get us out without any issues,” I replied. Tucked away in my bed roll was a notebook. Not the one Samuel gave to me, that wouldn’t have made the trip. It was communication between me and Vargas. He already had information for us written down. I jotted a reply soon after reading. Most prisons come with a library cart and someone to wheel it around. That was already paid for by me. When I finished, I looked up and was surprised to find that Samuel had fallen asleep. After watching his sleeping expression, hearing the gentle snores, I realized I was tired as well.

            The first night was difficult. I was used to shouting, but not so late into the night.

            Samuel had established rules for me when we were finally let out of our cells. The first was to always remain within his sight. I preferred the idea of staying close with him anyway, but I understood that he needed to make a presence in the yard, and couldn’t always be right where I was. Staying within his sight sounded easy enough. If I kept to myself, I would most likely go unnoticed. The first day or so might be challenging, but if anyone approached me Samuel would be there in an instant. He wouldn’t hesitate, he promised me that. He also made me swear not to follow anyone anywhere, not even a guard. The showers, ~~or rather the pathetic excuse for showers,~~ were off limits. He told me if I wanted to survive, I would have to learn how to blend in better. And getting dirty and grimy would do the trick. He added that showers were dangerous for a kid like me. I knew enough from my studying to know he wasn’t lying.

            The only compliment I could give to Nathan was that he was, indeed, good at trouble making. The first time we were in the yard, he was escorted out by some guards for getting into a rather loud and rock-filled argument with a local. I kept by Samuel when this occurred. I wasn’t interested on receiving a rock to the face, and Samuel seemed to want the same for me. He was quick to work on establishing a place among some gamblers. He was natural with them. At first they were suspicious of him – a new man who looked rather intimidating. But he quickly put on his casual smirk and was already hard at work earning their trust. I kept to the wall, it was large and plain and uninteresting, and most people didn’t look my way. It was directly across from where Samuel placed his bets, and he would constantly glance up and get a look at me. I would give him a nod and he would go back to his conversation. Sometimes, he would mumble something and walk around the yard. When he got to me, he would stop a bit, lean on the wall. His arm just over my head, and he would lean down and ask me if I was doing fine. He remained that way for a while each time. I didn’t realize right away that it was because someone was looking at me or even approaching me. I just know when he did that it looked like he was flirting with me from an outside perspective, and that it was being established that I was his. When I would speak to him, ask him how his gambling was going, he would just grin, wink and walk away. I kept my arms crossed, back leaning on the wall, and kept my eyes on him. I could tell after a few times his little friends were asking about me. The whole group would look over. He made some comment – I couldn’t hear from the distance, as well as my Spanish being awful, and some men patted his back. One man gave him a cigarette and a light.

            ~~He looked extremely attractive somehow smoking and crouched in a prison yard.~~

            Each night I would lay my head down and stare up at the ceiling when the cell doors closed. Samuel would do the same, an arm tucked behind his head, and a cigarette in his mouth. A few nights that little bud of red was the only light source in our cell.

            “Do you think it’ll be something good?” Samuel asked.

            “I would damn near think so,” I replied. I know every crack, piece of mold, every little bit carved into that ceiling. I memorized it as if it was going to be the last thing I saw. “If not, you owe me a lot of money for all this trouble, Samuel.”

            He laughed and rolled over. I could barely see the glint of his eyes – but what I could see, I could not mistake that mischievous look. “Aw, you really gonna try to rake in the cash from me, little man?”

            “I’m not little.” My voice was a little harsher than I intended, and Samuel put out his cigarette. “Don’t treat me like some child, Samuel-“

            “Jesus, would you quit it with the Samuel crap, Rafe?”

            I shuddered. He had rarely called me by my first name to my face during the beginning of our knowing each other. Hearing my name from his mouth was ~~intoxicating~~ different.

            “Well, what would you rather me call you than by your name?”

            Samuel sat up on his elbows and looked at me in the darkness. I could hardly breathe. He was doing something I liked, something he rarely did since we met but was always breathtaking when he did it. He was being authoritative.

            “You can just call me Sam,” he said. “Samuel is super formal, I dunno. I’m used to Sam. It’s weird to hear Samuel all the time from you. We’re partners, we’re-“ He stopped and shook his head. “Well, I don’t know about you but I could consider us friends. So Sam instead of Samuel.”

            Friends.

            That was a step down from what I wanted. But it was more than I was expecting.

            “Okay,” I said. I remember how soft my voice was, as both of us had grown tired by the time I spoke again. “Okay, Sam.”

            There was a glimpse of moonlight into our cell. I could see as he drifted off to sleep that he had a smile on his face. I couldn’t stop the smile from growing on my face as well. That night I drifted off thinking about our names. Rafael Adler and Samuel Drake. Rafe and Sam. Sam and Rafe.


	6. Entry 6: Sam

xx/xx/201x

 

“Describe a time when you felt fulfilled. Where were you? What were you doing? What about that moment felt so satisfying?”

 

            Well, I realize I kind of made myself a little pattern here in terms of what I’m covering about Rafe and my experience and when, so I might as well continue with that. Trust me, that wasn’t my intention, but since I’m going that direction anyway, I might as well go all-out. So this is how strangely satisfying the beginning of the prison adventure turned out. I don’t really want to talk about the end just yet. They’re very different things, and I want to make sure the fulfilled part can happen first. ~~Because damn it felt good.~~

            So, what about that made me fulfilled?

            Damn near everything in it.

            I gotta admit, I was impressed with Rafe and how he was able to get everything going as smooth as he did. We met at the airport, Nate was actually glad we didn’t need any fake ID’s or passports for the first time in quite a while. After living in our shoes for just a few months, you realize quick how many countries see our names and cringe and reject us before we can even park our car before going through customs. Rafe also made us look way more professional – I noticed that was something he did differently. All of us were honest except him – he listed himself as twenty-four. His passports and IDs were fake as hell on that end. But I guess, a sixteen year old coming with a twenty-five and thirty year old to Panama? A little weird. So I didn’t say a word. Nathan probably didn’t catch it like I did. Rafe didn’t utter a word. I mean, good on him, he looks way older than he is, so twenty-four looked good on him. Maybe it was the sternness of his face? ~~That goddamn emotionless expression he liked to use probably aged him about fifty years anyway.~~ And ohhhhhhh boy let me tell ya, first class is the bitch. I loved it. Nate and I always got the cheap seats. Rafe wasn’t interested in that. The seats were nice, relaxing, all that? I loved it. Rafe was tucked away by the window, me in the middle, Nate in the aisle. They argued about it for a while. Either that means Rafe is more mature than his age or Nate is more immature than his age. Either way, arguing about who gets the window seat was hilarious to listen to. ~~Nerds.~~

            When we got there, Rafe continued to impress. He got us a change of clothes into jail uniforms, which we would eventually trade for some “classy prison skins”, and we got onto a transfer bus. Rafe had me do the talking for him to some of the guards, but Rafe had to wave a little money in their face and they were so ready to please the kid. Again, impressive as hell.

            I’d been on a prison bus myself. This wasn’t my first rodeo. Nate had done some of this, too, so we were both prepared. But I was not about to let little pretty boy Rafe out of my sight. He’s a young, clean, handsome kid around a bunch of angry, dirty criminals who were being sent to a pretty damn strict prison. That was a big “no no” on my list of things I didn’t want kids to be around. So I kept glued to Rafe’s side. I knew he didn’t mind, but he understood why I was doing that, too, once one man simply looked at him as we got our seats.

            When everyone got crammed in, I had no choice but to get both arms around Rafe, lean on him, and feel that rich brat’s breath on my neck. It was uncomfortable as hell, but he didn’t seem to mind ~~well I mean he argued with me about it first but I asked him if he wanted any of us to break a limb just so I wouldn’t have to do this~~ and we went on our way like that. Nate and I tested the “English waters”. People glared at us. But I purposely brought up insulting topics that would surely have gotten me punched in the face. Nobody reacted. So English was a good bet. Sometimes I would mention something to a guy next to me, offer a smoke since I kept a pack tucked away, and eventually people seemed to not care about my presence anymore. I wasn’t sure how it was for Nathan and Rafe just yet, so I still wanted to stick close. Nate could handle himself. Rafe? I had yet to see evidence he could survive without me.

            Also, to be brief, I’d like to mention I’m not a fan of Vargas. He’s a jackass. I saw Rafe flinch a little when he got annoyed at a question and raise his voice. Vargas. Is a dick. End of story.

            What was fulfilling for me on the trip was my experience with Rafe. Nate had to go somewhere else, cell wise. I didn’t like that, I wanted all of us to stay together. But Rafe and Vargas said they did they best they could, and Nate’s roomie was gonna be pretty tame. I knew Nate could hold his own even if the guy was a little unhinged, but I wanted to be able to talk to him about the plans and just the whole treasure anyway. But I was glad I could at least be around Rafe – the kid would not be alive if he had someone else besides me or Nate as a cellmate. He was incredibly reserved when we got into our cells. I got to my bed and laid down, and lemme tell you, it was heaven. The beds aren’t comfy, but I’ve definitely slept on worse and in worse prisons. So I was totally comfortable, especially being able to stretch out like that. Once you’re in a prison bus all hunched over, it’s nice on any surface to lay out and get the muscles relaxed.

            It wasn’t a huge deal, but many times I caught Rafe just watching me. Staring at me. And sometimes I knew just where he was looking. He seemed to understand that it wasn’t gonna happen, but it was clear something in him was hoping anyway. A few times I made sure to remind him of a “look but don’t touch” rule. He would scoff and act like he wasn’t looking and wasn’t interested.

            That was a damn lie because he talks in his sleep.

            Anyway, there were some nice guys in the prison yard. I was surprised and pretty impressed by that. These men weren’t really interested in getting into fights and arguing, nothing of the sort. They were gamblers, playing for cigarettes and other little oddball items meant to keep you sane in prison. I immediately joined them and went about to chatting with them. They were all super cautious when I first approached, but after a while they seemed to take to me. I did my best to blend in, and they really liked my jokes. ~~Finally, guys with a sense of humor, huh Nathan?~~ I was glad Rafe was listening to my rules about staying in my sight. There was this big wall in the shade just a little ways across the yard – he stayed there and kept his eyes on me. Once I noticed he was watching me, I was always aware of his gaze. I could feel it travel around – my head, my shoulders, my arms, legs, my torso, all around. He had a really distinct look. I could feel when it was Rafe, I always seemed to know.

            Sometimes when I would glance up I would see some guys not far from him talking to each other, nodding over to him, pointing. Sometimes a guy would walk over. I would pat someone’s back, mutter about how I need to stretch my legs, and I would act like I was walking around aimlessly. I would always end up with Rafe before anyone else got there, stop anyone from trying to talk to him. ~~The only person who could talk to him was me.~~ Rafe and I would chat it up, I would make sure he was okay. I figured he liked what I was doing, too. I knew how to make someone look spoken for. Of course, Rafe wasn’t mine. But in prison, it’s claim or be claimed. So I made sure it looked like Rafe was claimed. Everyone knew if you went for someone else’s boy, you could get in a lot of trouble with him and his friends. So once it was obvious Rafe wasn’t gonna go with anyone but me, people began to back off. At most, people would look at him, sure. But there were no more people walking over to him.

            I remember the boy’s asking me once when I got back who he was. I explained how in our last prison he got caught up with some “unsavory fellows” and I helped him out. When I said that he “owed me a little for it” they all nodded and approved. Some stuff about a good catch, smooth job, he’s a good one. I got a cigarette for it. I tipped it to Rafe, who gave me a dull nod. He didn’t even look scared. He looked fucking bored. But I knew he was safe. That’s what mattered. Nate was busy with his own routine of getting beat up and beating up. It always made me nervous, but I trusted him. Rafe needed to be watched and kept safe.

            One of the nights I remember Rafe was especially short with me. After a few days, he was irritable and grouchy at night, and usually didn’t like to talk much. He didn’t seem mad at me or anything, just a little annoyed. We talked briefly about the treasure: what was gonna be in the tower, where it would lead us, if it would be any good? Rafe gave me short responses.

            I don’t remember what it was, but he had snapped on me for some comment that I made. He said something, I replied, and he got angry and cold and was ready to turn away. I just remember him calling me Samuel again and I was so annoyed. That was something I heard from dad. Everyone called me Sam. Hardly anyone called me Samuel, ever. I remember getting pissed at him, too, telling him that. The place got quiet and he didn’t respond to me really, so I just rolled over and I went to sleep. Before I slept, though, I remember him saying Sam. It was so soft; I wasn’t totally sure if I heard it right or not.

            My time in the prison with Rafe was good for me, I think. I got to make sure he was safe and protected, but also prove to myself that I could do that. It felt good to be able to watch over him, make sure he was safe. When he was being pissy, I liked knocking some sense into him. That was a pretty good time in my knowing the kid. It was a fulfilling moment. With Nathan, sometimes I felt like I wasn’t doing as much as I could. I couldn’t protect him like I wanted to, make sure he was learning and growing safely. With Rafe, it felt like I was making up for that a little, while we were in prison. It felt satisfying, and I felt successful.

            Then the rest of the shit show happened.

            I’m not gonna write about that yet. Maybe next time. But not yet.


	7. Entry 7: Rafe

xx/xx/201x

Reflection

I’m not sure I’m ready for what’s next.

* * *

 

            I need to talk about it. I haven’t discussed those events once. They still hold me captive. Each night I see it, I can clearly see the horrors that took place. It makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t want to think about it now. But I need to get everything out and write it all down. That’s what I need to do in order to get better.

            I want to start off light. That day, Nathan had gotten into a fight. Samuel was busy with some of the prison boys while I watched from my little place on the wall. We had been there for a few weeks, and Vargas was now confident and ready that we would be able to do the job smoothly. I didn’t have any troubles in the prison – I stayed by the wall and everyone left me alone. I was beginning to dirty up a little bit, but I kept myself mostly clean. I couldn’t help but make myself look as presentable as I could. Still, I remember being conscious of every fleck of dirt on my skin, the discomfort I could not hide.

            Samuel came back just after Nathan had left with Vargas. “Where’s Nate?” he asked me. I gave a bored shrug and gestured to the gates Nathan was led from. Samuel leaned on the wall beside me, and though he looked neutral, I could see the excitement in the tension of his muscles. “It’s finally going down, huh?”

            “Yep.”

            Samuel leaned against me a tad. “You did good in here, kid.”

            My eyes were glowing, but not a smile appeared on my face.

            We stood for quite some time in comfortable silence, then eventually he was called over to place some bets and play a few rounds. He patted my shoulder and walked away. I watched, eyes lingering on the muscles of his arms, the movement of his hips, any bit of him I could clearly see. He crouched among them, and he seemed to blend in perfectly. It was almost as though he had made lifelong friends in this prison, people who enjoyed him, valued him. I felt a little jealous that the only time I got with him was when we were alone in our cell or when he came to check up on me. Sometimes even when he checked on me we weren’t alone – Nathan would be there, too. I didn’t like it. It wasn’t as satisfying as I had hoped.

            But his smile caught in the moon at night as he lied on his bed in the cell.

            ~~That made every moment precious.~~

            There Nathan came. He was pushed into the yard, Vargas yelled at him. I watched him run over to Samuel. They spoke quietly, and I stood up from my place against the wall and approached. When I arrived, I caught wind of Vargas. There was a problem. Nathan tensed when I approached. Samuel looked away, taking a breath of smoke from a cigarette he won before Nathan arrived.

            They told me that Vargas had read the documents I had sent ahead. Vargas had charged me extra for that. And sometimes he had asked for more money on top of that. I had always obliged, because I had been told that Vargas was a trustworthy man if you gave him enough pay. I felt anger boiling in the pit of my stomach, but I kept calm. We wandered away to see what it was that Nathan had found.

            It was beautiful.

            A cross – not a crucifix, they had both informed me – and it was of Saint Dismas. He had been the penitent thief at Jesus’ side. ~~Dismas really was a pain in my ass for a little over fifteen years.~~ Samuel was alight and excited. He was moving quick, talking fast, hands moving. He always got animated when he was excited. I had tried to read the inscription on the back, but, like my Spanish, my Latin was rusty. I wasn’t really a fast learner on languages, and I usually had to take my time.

            Samuel read it quick and interrupted me. I didn’t mind. His voice, gentle and rough and excited, right into my ear. It gave me chills. I watched him. Admired him. He knew so much, so quick, he was a fountain of knowledge and I was amazed by how endless his talents were. I could have stared at him more if those men hadn’t shown up.

            I have to say, though, going from ogling Samuel Drake to a prison fight was exciting. It had been my first fist fight. I knew the general rules, and I also knew that real fights didn’t have real rules. My mind was racing, I fell to instinct. I watched Nathan and Samuel tear up the place, knocking people down and fists connecting with jaws. I was amazed that I was doing so well, myself. I felt energized as my hell crushed bone of a fallen man I had knocked down. My own fist on people’s faces, ribs. I knew what to do, where to hit, how to move and sidestep. Samuel didn’t say anything, but I knew he watched me sometimes. I never found out if he was impressed by my display.

            When Vargas arrived and broke us up, his guards grabbed hold of me and Samuel and Nathan and dragged us away. We were led to his office. I knew what was coming, I hated it. He saw the cross. Nathan had made it clear that Vargas hadn’t seen it. We could have gotten out of here under Vargas’ nose. Now it was too late for that.

            There was one problem with this situation – I was still energized. Adrenaline was still pumping through my veins. My head was dizzy, I felt light, but I had to keep going. I had to talk to Vargas, had t to settle things and get the Drake brothers and myself out of there. Vargas was proving to be difficult – my patience was wearing thing. Everything in those few minutes was a blur to me. I remember thinking “I can’t let Vargas get away with this.”

            I remember thinking “I can’t let Vargas live.”

            I shook his hand. I grabbed a blade. I don’t know where from. It was a blur as I stabbed him. I did a few times for good measure, and all I remember was taking his gun. I heard reactions behind me. Nathan looked horrified. I glanced down. There was blood on my hands. Quite literally. Samuel didn’t seem very disgusted, but he too looked surprised. He didn’t seem to think I was capable of such an act. Yet there I had been, driving a blade into Vargas’ body. I had to. I had to.

            Everything blacks out. Running. Yelling. Gunfire. I had a gun. I had never used a gun practically before. In a range, sure. But now I was killing. It was exciting. It was so exciting. Watching the blood, watching them fall. I wanted Samuel to be impressed with me. He didn’t seem to notice. Or at least he didn’t show it. He kept worrying about Nathan. Stupid Nathan. Why did he get all of Samuel’s attention and not me? What does Nathan have that I lack?

~~I’m so angry I’m so furious I hate remembering this. He left me. He left me on that roof. Nathan fell and I was so pleased – then there Sam goes and he just leaves me for that idiot why did he do that what did I do I don’t remember doing anything wrong why cant he just be content with me why does Nathan have to be in the picture I don’t understand why wont he just be happy with me I hate Nathan I hate I hate I hate I hate I hate him so much he needs to die and stay dead~~

            Then it happened. There he was. We were running on the rooftops. I was in the front with my gun. Nathan was just behind me. I heard the crash of metal. I turned and saw Nathan helping Samuel up the wall. I spotted the guard across the roofs with his gun raised.

            It happened so fast.

            I watched each bullet thud. Against the wall, moving closer and closer. I felt sick. I wanted to move, but my own body was captured in that slow motion. I saw Samuel’s eyes. At first he was looking at Nathan. Then I realized he was looking past Nathan – at me. Only for a moment.

            I watched a bullet dig into his back. A spray of them now. Nathan grew quiet. Sam didn’t speak. I stared.

            That look I was afraid of having, I never realized how scared I was to see it on someone else. Samuel’s eyes grew cold. He looked fragile. He opened his mouth. There was blood.

            He looked as dead as an Adler.

            Abandoned. That’s how I felt when he fell. I raced forward, I wanted to shout, but it was caught in me. I heard his body hit metal and I cringed. There was pain in my whole system.

            He smiled at me all the time. He always encouraged me. He wanted me to be my best. He told me my eyes were beautiful, they were full of life. Samuel Drake, the man who was across from me in that cell. His peaceful snoring had begun to lull me to sleep. I wanted to crawl to his bed, curl up in his arms.

            I was there. He stood there in the cell. He held his arms out. I reached.

            Samuel.

            He smiled at me. He called me my name. He said I was his. That he was mine. He was all mine. I practically ran forward, I was almost there, despite that heavy feeling and-

            My hand landed on Nathan’s shoulder and I remember. I was on the roof. Sam was gone. He was gone.

            He said he was mine. He was gone but he said he was mine. That’s what my mind told me.

            We ran. I hated Nathan, but I wasn’t objecting his company now. We ran through brush, and fell into the oceans. There was a boat waiting for us. I had arranged it with Vargas.

            “Rafe.” His voice echoed in my ears as I took the controls and got us away. “I’m yours.”

            My head was spinning. I felt heavy and numb all at once. Nathan was crying behind me. I wasn’t sure if I should cry, too. I couldn’t tell what happened. Did Sam really die? Did I watch him fall? He said he was mine…

            Everything is muddled up. My memories of that moment are nightmares. I don’t remember what’s real from it, what’s not. I know he fell and I thought he died. Most of the time I see that cell, I see him hold out his arms, welcome me to him. Welcome me home.

            Sometimes I remember that moment and I see myself waking up to him quieting me and holding me. That usually happened within the thirteen years of him being gone. Waking up grasping at sheets at the age of sixteen, then nineteen, twenty, twenty-two. Every time I remember this I’m gasping for air. My head is under. I just want him back I want him alive I want him to be mine. And yet he died.

            None of this makes sense.

            I need to go and call my doc. Need some rest.


	8. Entry 8: Sam

xx/xx/201x

 

 

            ~~I’m not talking about what happened at the prison.~~

~~Who gives a shit.~~


	9. Entry 9: Rafe

xx/xx/201x

 

Reflection

            I’m not doing that.

* * *

 

            After what happened at the prison, I had struggled. I was sixteen and I watched the only person who had been significant in my life die. Nathan was there for about a year with me, but he left, as well. I’m glad he did. Not only did I loathe him, but his presence reminded me so much of Samuel. He kept appearing in my head, kept my mind racing.

            I went to therapy. Nobody knew I was seeing a specialist for the trauma dealt to me. Nathan was dealing with it in his own way, but he was willing to help me for some time in Scotland. When he left, I knew I had to figure it out on my own. I began to hire little groups to help me dig up the place. I couldn’t stop now. ~~Not when I lost~~

            Every night for four years it was the same. I would find some people in my room at first to check on me, making sure I was okay. After that nobody arrived to check on me when I awoke shouting. It was as though everything I couldn’t say when it happened would come rushing out when I slept. I saw it over and over and over and over and over again. It was a torture I couldn’t escape from. Four years and six months in, my therapist sent me to another therapist. Another therapist after only two months. Then, for a period of time, I was so lost and broken that I was institutionalized and spent two years with professionals who helped me to deal with the pain. Strange that the specialists before them didn’t know what they were doing.

            Even after I left the institution, I continued my work and searching for the treasure. I had to. How could I not? I remember Nathan and I shouting at each other not long before he left. He kept telling me that I was selfish, that I should quit and move on. That someone died for this. I didn’t need that reminder. He thought I was just doing this to become known for more than my family.

            He was right. Well, half right. I used to do it for that. During my grieving, I knew I would have to find the treasure for Samuel. Almost every day I thought about quitting. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t just let that have happened for nothing.

            When I was out of the institution I was back in full force. My parents died. I had incurred all the wealth of the Adler name.

            Finally.

            I didn’t need to go to little mercenary bands to get aid. I was now the top of the class, able to enlist anyone I wanted. I made it clear I was picky – I wanted to find someone good. Someone worthy of Samuel Drake’s name. Each group that approached I tossed aside. I began to make myself known in the underworld in my own way. Samuel stopped being a crutch. Instead, he was what drove me. I worked hard to make the Adler name famous among businesses and companies. My family inheritance flourished under my hand in a way my father could only dream of. When I wasn’t working I was investing even more in the findings and discoveries of forgotten tombs, lost artifacts. I collected them, and let the world know who it was doing these things. Everyone from scientists to grave robbers knew my name and they all wanted me involved in their expeditions.

            Shoreline was another project of mine. It had been decimated with war. The woman who inherited it was scrambling to find a way to get herself back into gear. I knew that with money and my hand on Shoreline, I could bring the Adler name into view in the world even more. All for Samuel. All to get the treasure of the Gunsway.

            Yet at night as I lied in bed I could not sleep. I had energy in my body. When I closed my eyes, I saw his smile. His face. I wondered what he would think of me each time I focused on him. During those nights I would go to my gym and work out until the exhaustion could barely allow me to make it back to my bed. I was in the business of proving everyone wrong. I was in the business of fighting for what I wanted. For what Samuel wanted.

            Nadine Ross was an interesting woman. She had come to see me after I contacted her, and though she had a cold and harsh demeanor, we both seemed to understand that she would be accepting any offer I had to give her. Adler wasn’t something you turned down. Adler wasn’t something you turned away.

            When she accepted my offer, I had conditions.

            The first was that I was allowed to have some of her men at my disposal at all times. She agreed. I also asked that she be present during excavations, and see to it herself that everything was handled with care if I was not present. She agreed to that as well. I expected reports whenever I was gone, with full detail, not a trace missing. She complied. I also decided to buy out a quarter of Shoreline men. She didn’t much like that, but agreed. They would remain under Shoreline colors, but even after this adventure, if I needed them I could enlist without question. In case I didn’t want Nadine in the picture anymore, I could easily pull my own group together directly from Shoreline. She accepted.

            The last was for her intelligence to look into something I had been digging around about for quite some time. By that point it was about eight years since Samuel’s passing.

            “What could you possibly need my intelligence for?” Nadine said. “They’re busy enough as it is, and you have all the informants you need elsewhere.”

            “None of them have been able to figure out exactly what I’m looking for,” I told her. I told her of the Drake brothers. I made it clear that what I wanted was difficult.

            “You want Samuel Drake’s body?”

            “Just information,” I corrected her. “Nobody at that prison knew of me. So I was able to inquire about a certain inmate without getting caught. Samuel was reported dead, I asked for the records and photographs.” ~~I needed to confirm it for myself.~~ “It was suspicious. They claimed to have the records but wouldn’t allow me access. They wouldn’t allow anyone access. So far all my digging, bribes, and threats have led to nothing – I can’t find any files that exist, which means-“

            “He might still be alive,” Nadine finished, understanding dawning in her eyes. “So, you want my men to look for those records, or Samuel Drake himself?”

            “That’s the idea,” I said. “Until I get one shred of proof one way or the other, I won’t stop looking.”

            Nadine had watched me. She had keen eyes like Samuel did. I knew she could see through my masks, my poker face. I hated that she could. She was a business associate. She wasn’t supposed to know.

            “He meant a lot to you, didn’t he?” she asked.

            The look I gave her stopped the conversation from progressing any more than that.

            Time kept progressing. Everything began to run into each other. I couldn’t find the treasure. I couldn’t find it. I was tearing that goddamn church apart looking for the treasure, for one sign of Avery, but I couldn’t find a single thread. I began to fear that it wasn’t there. How could it not be there? Samuel said it was there. He knew best, he was the authority on the Gunsway heist. The authority on Avery. I felt like everything was falling apart. Samuel would be disappointed. Ashamed. I was disappointed and ashamed. How could I face anyone knowing I had failed them like this? I couldn’t just stop. I poured more money into Shoreline and my researchers. We had to find an answer. We had to we had to. Samuel. We had to find something. Just one thing.

            I was twenty-eight when Nadine called me. She was taking care of some business away from Scotland, some of her men with herself, and some with me. I was looking into my business, my non-exploration work, when my phone buzzed. I was not in the mood to talk that day. I don’t completely remember why, it was something frustrating with work, and I answered with a harsh tone. She responded with the same level of ferocity I greeted her with. We often found ourselves butting heads. But once we got used to it, we both seemed to enjoy it. It wasn’t often you met someone who was on the same level as you, both in hotheaded behavior and skill. She challenged me and my authority, made me prove myself capable to her and to Shoreline. It was annoying, but I liked showing all of them that I was good at what I did.

            “Well, do you want to hear the news I brought you or would you rather just yell and hang up?” her challenges always irked me.

            “What news could you possibly have? You’re not even here.”

            “Check your bank account.”

            I did. There was a rather significant chunk missing. Nothing to slow me down, but sizeable that I could see it. “Why the hell did you take that much money from my account Nadine? You should never have to take out that much money unless it’s-“

            I stopped.

            Silence.

            Was it true? It couldn’t be. No, no it couldn’t be true at all. There was no way in hell.

            “He’s waiting for you to come get him,” Nadine said. I could hear the smirk on her face. “Your little crush is in holding cells.”

            I was already packing and purchasing a ticket to Panama before she could finish her sentence.


	10. Entry 10: Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so shooooooooort ugh sorry

xx/xx/201x

 

“Write a list of things that make you happy.”

 

  1. The doctors were kind. I don’t remember much. I would fall in and out of consciousness. They had limited resources. It was hell to be in. I would sit up, spit up blood, watch them remove a bullet because they didn’t have anesthesia. I’d fall unconscious again. They did some blood transfusions. I was lucky we matched the blood they gave me. Whenever I was awake, they gave me things to bite on to focus the pain. One whispered encouragingly to me. They made sure I had my mind on other things when I was conscious. Which was rarely.
  2. I didn’t have to deal with a bad cell mate once I was recovered enough. Everything hurt and was sore. I could barely walk. I was thin, starving, thirsty. The doctors had done what they could to help, but since I had attempted to escape, the guards weren’t too happy. Same about the death of Vargas. They had nobody to blame but me. The new warden was informed about me. Any time I was out of my cell, I found a guard beating on me. Kicking my bullet wounds. I ended up at the doctors again many times from that. But my cell mate was one of the boy’s I had been gambling with. He managed to swindle me some food and extra blankets. Seems like I kind of became family.
  3. I didn’t see anything of Nathan or Rafe. I knew they got out, though. My cell mate bribed some guards to check the morgue for anyone matching the descriptions I gave, along with the names. Neither were found. No records placed. They escaped.
  4. That particular guard and I had a thing going on for a while. My cell mate didn’t say a word. At first the guard was just being nice to me. He was cute. Sometimes, late at night, we would kiss through the bars. He gave me books and would lean back on the wall, pretending to stand guard, and pet my hair through the bars as I read. We both knew it didn’t make sense, and we never bothered talking about deepening what we had going. He seemed to appreciate it, actually. He understood that what I felt wasn’t really too emotional, though I appreciated the kindness.
  5. People were talking about Nathan. I wasn’t allowed to send letters out or receive them – even when I tried I got caught. But some of my boys were on good standing and asked those on the outside to tell me about what was happening and if they could inquire about Nathan Drake. They told me amazing stories, I wasn’t sure if I believed them. He had found himself a girl. He was discovering lost cities, finding treasures beyond our wildest dreams. I wondered if he had found Avery’s treasure. Even if he found it without me, I would be happy to know if Nathan found it. I still wish it would have been me, though.
  6. I managed to get enough good behavior notices that I got normal meals again. Nobody had to sneak me food anymore after about three years of good behavior. That was a relief, lemme tell ya.
  7. Rafe had inherited the family fortune. That was good, I was glad for him. He seemed to have a good business sense, I knew he would do well in that venture. I hoped he and Nathan were both still looking for the treasure, or for me. But I knew the prison was keeping me under wraps. I was heavily monitored when going out to the yard, even six years after the incident. Some people just can’t forgive and forget, you know?
  8. My boys are softies. Eight years in and on my birthday they got me a helluva lot of cigarettes and even a slice of cake. It tasted awful, but hey the icing made it pretty okay. I loved my boys. They’re good guys. Even though they were in prison, still. Good guys.
  9. I wanna have ten here, ten c’mon what’s nine? Oh, right! There was this time before my guard boyfriend guy got transferred away that I was out in the yard and saw him and we snuck off to make out that was pretty awesome. I missed that kind of affection, and he was pretty damn good at it.
  10. I remember the day so well. I was just in bed, napping, and the door open and I got dragged up. People were yelling and shouting and pushing me along, and I had no clue what was going on. We went down some halls, past cells. My boys would lean out and call to me, but I didn’t have time to answer. They looked as confused as I was. I know I didn’t have no hearings, no trial, nothing, so I had no idea where I was going until I realized I was on my way to see the warden. This new guy was just as much of a jackass as Vargas was, only less humor and more hair. He was a little aggressive – mad and agitated and I had no idea why. Eventually he looked at me and I knew whatever it was that it was good for me and bad for him. Otherwise he would have been smiling, he hated me so much. Then he told me about my bail. I had one, yea but really under wraps and quiet and super pricey. He then told me that my bail AND any bribes to courts were paid. So I was free.



I was free. Fucking free. I was out of there, gonna head out, it was amazing. He explained to me that my lovely benefactor would be here in a few days, that they had to push through some paperwork, and I would be in one of those plush holding cells.

But I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn’t fucking believe it.

I was free?

That’s the happiest thing about prison. Thirteen fucking years of missing food, missing a good bed, missing a body close to mine, missing the outside world. Missing Nathan. Missing Rafe. And here I was. Ready to go one day out of the blue. I had no information on who did it but I could guess.

Only one person knew that I existed that had enough money to take care of something like this.

Rafe fucking Adler. My hero.


	11. Entry 11: Rafe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just super short I apologize but I had a burst of energy

xx/xx/201x

 

Reflection

            I didn’t handle my experience of losing Samuel well. Not initially anyway. The therapy did help a lot when I finally got around to doing that. Getting away from the world, I know that was necessary for me. I’m even thankful for Nadine being there. She isn’t really a comfort-huggy-type, but neither am I. She found her own ways of lifting my spirits. Drinking, going to the site to look over things, letting me take charge. She seemed to know her way around comforting someone like me. I feel some regret that I never thanked her properly for how much time she took to make sure I was at least keeping my head above the water. I should maybe try to contact her and apologize for everything, and thank her.

* * *

 

            The trip to Panama was agonizing. Every moment waiting at the airport I felt sick to my stomach, yet I was excited and ready to see Samuel. I had to stop myself from running when I was able to get onto the plane. The entire flight I felt as though I was losing my mind. I wanted to tear out my hair, kick the chair in front of me on the flight. My heart was racing, I felt like I was losing oxygen just from Samuel not being there. I so badly wanted to see his face, see him smile. I wanted to hear his voice, hear his jokes, watch the light in his eyes. I worried a moment. What if the light of his eyes was gone? He had been in prison for so long, I found myself afraid that he might not be the same person. How could he be?

            We landed back in America for a few hours and I spent my time by the gate of my next flight. I hated waiting for Samuel. I didn’t want to wait. By this point, I was full of energy, joy, fear, excitement, dread, so many conflicting emotions I felt dizzy. In my mind I was confident that my affection for the man had long since died off. I was sure I still cared about him, but the romantic feelings I might have had were long gone. That’s what I kept telling myself. I made it clear – this was just for Avery’s cross. And he had told us we were friends. Friends. I didn’t really have friends. At that time, I didn’t think I could call Nadine my friend, nor was I really interested in that. Samuel, though. He was my friend.

            So I kept saying.

            I had to use a lot of money to pass through customs in Panama. There were delays, and I was not willing to wait that long. I had to see Samuel. I needed to more than anything else. Avery could wait. Nadine could way. Hell, the whole goddamn world could wait. So I practically threw money at the people I bribed to get into Panama. They knew this would be a fast trip. Get Samuel, get a flight to America. I would take him back to my home first and let him get readjusted and rested before we continued on to Scotland. That was the plan. I told myself that. I knew what I needed to do.

            Since I wasn’t in Panama in secret anymore, I made sure to go in style. Nice car, good driver. I wanted to make it clear to people I was here on business. Personal business, sure, but business. My throat was tight. I didn’t bother for a hotel. I went right to the prison.

            The light was slowly fading. The flight back to the United States was soon, and I needed to get Samuel and head out as fast as we could. The sun was gleaming so low on the horizon, setting the sky ablaze. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was the day that I would see Samuel again after thirteen years. I was twenty-eight. He was forty-three. He spent so long in that prison. I was the one to get him out.

            Thank god for Nadine Ross.

            The car pulled up to the gates of the prison and I stepped out. Some guards were there and approached me, and I gave them my identification, my passport. I actually recognized one of them. He looked me in the eye and his expression was blank. He had no memory of me. I wasn’t surprised, I had been hiding behind a wall when I managed to shoot him in the leg. I had gotten a clear glimpse of his face when he fell. The guards led me into the prison. I had a wave of memories over me.

            I could see Sam walking in front of me, both of us pushed along by guards. I remembered a man reaching at me from a cell I walked by. Sam had fractured his arm. I touched the bars and I felt my stomach twist. It felt good.

            I was led to the warden’s office. It was so familiar. I felt my blood rush, and almost instantly I felt that same adrenaline that caused me to kill Vargas. I had to lean on the wall and I rubbed my eyes. A guard asked me if I was okay. I gave him some kind of snappy answer. My mind had gone dark a little, I don’t remember much of my moments waiting for the warden in his office. When the man showed up, though, my mind was clear. He was just as bad as Vargas, but for different reasons. Vargas was angry but full of life. This man reminded me of my father – cold and dead and strict with a gaze that seemed to judge every choice you’ve ever made.

            Our conversation was brief. I spoke little. I made it clear who I was and who I was coming to get. The warden’s dark expression worsened when I told him I was there for Samuel Drake. He asked me how I knew the man and what my business was. I told him that Samuel was an old friend, and that my business was mine and not his. He seemed to appreciate my snarky comments, and he gave me a nod of approval. The guards brought me back outside. I leaned against the car and I waited.

            It felt like something out of a book or a movie. I heard the inner gates swing open and footsteps. Everything but those footsteps were silent. I was barely even breathing. I heard more gates swing open. Closer. And closer. And closer.

            I felt like I would vomit. I felt sick. I felt an urge to get in the car and leave. I wasn’t ready. I had just gotten over this. I was moving past it. Yet he was alive. He was so alive.

            There he was.

            He looked so much the same. Yet he was so different. Older, rougher, dirty and exhausted looking. He was worn. He was aged and bruised and had been broken many, many times. It was astounding. He saw me. They didn’t tell him, because his eyes widened. He stood in place, still, watching me. I watched him. He held a bag of his belongings. I wondered how old the contents were. They were the same of which he brought to Panama thirteen years before. I recognized the old bag. It was as worn down as he was.

            My heart hammered in my chest.

            I was not over it.

            “Samuel.” My voice shook.

            “Rafe.” He took a step forward, eyes locked with mine. When he was close enough, I couldn’t stop myself from raising a hand and touching him. He was real. My hand brushed his shoulder and I wanted to pull him close and kiss him and hold him. He was actually there, he was real. I felt like I might faint. He seemed shaken as well. I helped him into the car and we made our way to the airport.

            “When we get there, I got some clothes that you can change into,” I told him. I remembered his size fairly well. If anything, he would be smaller now. It was unlikely, based on his frame, that he had gotten too big for them.

            Samuel nodded, and he kept watching me. We sat in silence for some time. Then he spoke.

            “How did you find me?” he asked. “You never gave up?”

            I felt warm at those questions. “Well, I always had people looking,” I told him. I explained how I was not allowed to get information beyond a “Sam died” type notice. He laughed at that, and I watched him unwind beside me. He seemed to figure out that this was real. He was leaving. He was free.

            When I explained what I had been doing for thirteen years (not including my therapy, nor that I was in an institute), Sam seemed impressed, and even a little amused when I complained about the difficulties of working with Shoreline, of being unable to find anything about Avery in Scotland. It was nice to hear him laugh. I felt hot. I missed him. He was right there.

            And then it hit me.

            I was twenty-eight.

            Twenty-eight.

            I was no longer sixteen as I was before. I was an adult. Every feeling of wishing I was older thirteen years ago flooded into my mind. I wanted to be older for Samuel. More appealing. Equals. An adult. Something, someone that could actually catch Samuel’s interest. And I was that now. I was twenty-eight.

            I had a chance.

            The rest of our trip to my home was embarrassing and full of ridiculous conversing. I don’t want to talk about it, it would fill up the entire thing and then I couldn’t get anywhere from there. He told me stories of prison. I told him stories of Scotland. We talked and laughed. And I hadn’t felt so at ease in years. I felt like I could smile without being ashamed. Because it was Samuel who saw me.

            I was happy again.


	12. Entry 12: Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is incredibly short but I hope you like it

xx/xx/201x

 

“Nobody knows that I . . .”

 

            This is gonna be a fun one, given how I wanna try to follow what happened. I remember it so clearly. You don’t really forget a day like that, a moment like that.

            I had to stay in the holding cells for a few days. It wasn’t too bad, it was actually nicer than a lot of the normal cells. I was allowed food that was more for the guards this time – still incredibly shitty, but easier to digest and shit out later. I was actually kind of enjoying life in those cells when the day rolled around and they told me that I was finally getting out. The person who basically bought me out had arrived. In my mind, I was totally sure it was Rafe. There was nobody else that rich who knew I even existed. Even then, I wasn’t prepared. I hadn’t seen the kid in thirteen years. I remember gathering up my stuff in the storage stronghold. It was insane, really. The kid was sixteen. Well, no, I had to remind myself over and over again that he was almost thirty now. He would look older, be older. Aged and rich and fresh and bringing me out of hell. Like I said, it was insane.

            Still, thinking about Rafe, I just saw the little teenager, with the cold and blank expression, and the life bursting in his eyes.

            I was escorted to the door and they let me out. Walking through gate after gate, hearing the world outside, I felt like I was on my way to my death sentence. It was strange, going out after so long. The prison walls had become a strange comfort.

            I never got to say goodbye to my boys. I haven’t seen ‘em since. Sometimes I write letters, but I don’t get any back. I wonder if they’re still alive? I wonder if they even get my letters?

            The final gates opened and led to a stretch of a dirt road beyond the gates. The guards stopped, letting me walk forward, but I stood still and stared out ahead of me. The sky was a beautiful pink and red, the sun visible over the horizon. Everything was swept up in this glow that took my breath away. You didn’t see sights like that in prison. The high hills in the distance, the tall grass waving in a light breeze that felt so good on my skin. So natural. So free.

            It didn’t smell awful like it did in the prison – I took in a deep breath, relaxing and smiling. I was out. I was free.

            I saw the car sitting at the other end of the gate, on the road.

            I saw him.

            He looked so much the same, yet so different. This was not the kid I met. This was not the kid I started this with. He was taller, more defined. Strong jaw, calm posture. He definitely worked out. Muscular and…

            Rafe Adler was a fucking grown up.        

            Yet the look in his eyes was that of the child I knew.

            “Samuel.” I remember hearing his voice so clear. It was soft, familiar, welcoming and warm. He had a quiver in his voice. He looked to be in awe, purely based on what he gave away with his eyes. ~~Those beautiful eyes.~~

            “Rafe.” When I was close enough he put a hand on my shoulder. It felt warm. It felt good. It felt like home. He got us into the car and explained he was taking me to America, back to his place to let me rest and recover from the experience. I asked him if he had been searching for me all those thirteen years. He told me he had never given up on me. Of all the people there, it was him. I wanted to ask about Nathan, but it was hard to find the words. I was out. I was free, and here was Rafe, the man who helped me get out. My savior, practically.

            The conversation had died and he looked fidgety. I knew that look in his eye from when he had been with me thirteen years before. This kid grew up into a man, but he still was almost the same in so many ways. I went to speak, to ask if he was okay, and he did the most ridiculous thing. I never told anyone about this. I bet you he hasn’t either. Hell, he probably even lies about what happened.

            His mouth met mine and his body was up to mine.

            Now, I was caught by surprise and at first I didn’t know how to respond. His mouth was hot and soft, it felt and tasted so nice. It was weird, but the taste of Rafe is exactly what I would expect. I dunno how to describe it… he tastes clean. Not like a mint-fresh kind of thing, but just clean. And nice. And he pulled back and looked me in the eye. I saw him pale so much. His mouth opened and he began to spill out apologies. He was clutching to my shirt like he would fall through the car and down into the ground if he let go. He was like what… twenty seven? Twenty eight? and he was apologizing to me like he was sixteen again.

            But he wasn’t a kid again. And that kiss felt really damn good.

            I kissed him again.

            It was incredibly heated. Rafe was almost in my lap by that point, and I was making sure I was getting him excited by it. It had been so long in prison, feeling his mouth on mine, his body practically on fire on mine, it was intense. His fingers in my hair and gripping it was really hot, too. He was whispering my name between kisses, he sounded breathless and incredibly horny. That was a little difficult for me to resist.

            The driver wasn’t really paying attention to us, or at least he didn’t care, but in those seats it was pretty heated. Rafe lit up – he was on me quick and pulling at me and his hands were in my hair. It’s amazing that even after thirteen years he had a crush on me. It didn’t escalate beyond kissing – though I knew Rafe wanted it to. Man, lemme just say the sounds of frustration he makes are golden. I was really into it. Problem was that we were in a car on our way to the airport. We couldn’t really take our time, so we agreed that it wouldn’t escalate beyond the kissing.

            After a bit though, he was breathless and I was kissing his neck. I had a little bit of fun feeling his butt, too. It’s nice, it really is. But something must have happened in his mind because he withdrew. I missed having someone like that, and Rafe was really good, so I asked what the problem was. He just told me he didn’t want it to be like that. I understood what he meant. I was fresh out of prison. We both just had some kind of instinctual thing in us, and logic was now getting the better of us both. We sat side by side. The rest of the drive was quiet.       

            But honestly, the whole time in the airport, when I got changed, the whole flight and drive to his place?

            I could only think of those amazing lips on mine. The sound of Rafe mumbling my name as I bit his neck.

            I knew I would have to look into that little event further.

            That’s something I never told anyone. And I’m pretty damn sure he will never ever ever tell a soul about it. Guarantee.


	13. Entry 13: Rafe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I finally posted again sorry this is so fucking short but I really wanted to get a chapter out and I just don't have much energy so really short chapters are the best I can do

xx/xx/201x

Reflection

I was dishonest. I just didn’t really want to talk about the details. But moral is that I was happy and feeling good about going to get Sam. That was one of the best moments of my life, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. It made me feel like I did something good and like I was worth something. Seeing the appreciation in Sam’s eyes, and the affection and joy that came from him, that made me feel good.

* * *

 

            Having Samuel in my home was a dream come true. He seemed more than relieved to get somewhere that wasn’t prison. And I lived in quite a big place, and that seemed to be thrilling for him as well. When we arrived, he was quick to take in the comforts of my home. I was more than happy to oblige. Some things had transpired before we had arrived, which I prefer not to discuss, but it left a bit of tension between us. We didn’t talk about it. We avoided any personal conversations after that. It was business or light talk. I wasn’t ready to discuss anything else. Still, Samuel was at ease, enjoying the luxury I was providing, and I was glad that I could do that for him. He took one of the guest rooms and I was happy to provide him some space as he collapsed and fell asleep almost instantly.

            I’m guilty to admit that I watched him for some time while he slept. I didn’t want to intrude, but having him alive, there, in that bed, I couldn’t help but stand by the door and stare. He looked peaceful as he slept. I had never seen him sleep before. In the prison, it was too dark to clearly see his face. I wondered what he was dreaming of. ~~I wondered if he was dreaming about me.~~

            The moment I saw him begin to wake I went to my office. It was easy to hide in there. I tried to do some work, make it look like I had actually been pretty busy, but it was difficult to focus. My entire being was humming. I wanted to rush out to Samuel, say something, do something, anything, to show that I bore affection for him. But the idea of looking Sam in the eye and saying a word related to that was too difficult, and I swallowed my desires and stuck to my pride. I fiddled around with my work until Samuel arrived at the door, knocking on the frame. He told me he was going to look around my kitchen and make some food, asked if I wanted anything. I told him to have whatever he wanted, and to get me some wine if he found the time. It was subtle, but it was enough of a cue for Samuel to know he was invited to drink with me.

            He was gone for some time and I thought he must have forgotten, so I went to the kitchen much later and found him eating and rather enjoying himself. He was drinking, too, and when he saw me he jumped up and grinned. He let me know he was going to get the wine to me as soon as he was finished, but I made sure he knew I didn’t mind and I got it myself. We sat there a while, him eating and both of us drinking. It was silent, but mostly comfortable. It was nice to be there with Samuel, alone with him, having wine and feeling comfortable and… domestic. It was nice.

            This pattern began for some time. I told Samuel that I was getting into contact with Nathan, but I wasn’t. I was avoiding doing that. I didn’t want Nathan back here, didn’t want him involved. I would make up excuses, pretend to send emails or phone calls. It was enough to reassure Samuel. We agreed that he would take a few months to get himself together and back on his feet, then we would look into where we left off. It was a plan we were both happy with.

            It all changed one day, almost on accident. This is one of those times that it was a blur for me – not because I was shutting down, but because it felt so unreal my body and mind struggled to commit it to memory. It was a day that I didn’t work – I had done some extra the day before and I was allowing myself to take some time off. We were getting back on track, and discussing when we would go to Scotland. Samuel didn’t ask about Nathan, so I wasn’t telling. He was excited, full of life, ready to take on the world. He had gotten some new clothes with money I lent him, and he was fresh and clean-cut and lovely and nice. It was addicting to just look at him. We were sitting in my personal lounge and talking. Papers were laid out on the coffee table of the Saint Dismas Cathedral, and information I had dug up about Avery’s cross. Sa was on the sofa looking them over, and I was beside him having a drink. I’m unsure if it had been the drink influencing me, or the way Sam hunched there muttering to himself being so fascinating, but I finally spoke.

            “We never talked about it,” I had told him. There had been the event I would prefer not to discuss.

            He looked up at me and just shrugged. “You didn’t want to so I didn’t bring it up,” he said. “So I didn’t.”

            We were quiet for some time, and I stared down at the maps of Saint Dismas Cathedral. I had bought the place, poured money into it, spent my entire adult life on it. Sam seemed to still think it was there, the treasure, or something of value. He knew my doubts – I had told him everything that happened during the years that he was gone. Yet he was firm that it was still there. And I hoped he was right.

            “Well, I want to talk about it.” I remember sounding so weak. Almost afraid. It was embarrassing and horrible.

            Sam sat up and looked up at me. We sat in silence, looking at each other, and I was trying to think of something to say. We had gotten close during what happened. Very close. And it was good. And I stared at Sam’s eyes. Then his mouth. Then his jaw. Down, down, down…

            And then we were there, arms entangled and mouths meeting. My drink fell and broke on the floor. It didn’t matter. He was there, hot against me, hands on me, kissing me. His hands up the back of my shirts and my own gripping his shirt and in his hair. It was a fire and we were burning.

            He pushed me back to lay on the sofa and he was right there on top of me, kissing me, pushing up my shirt and

            I shouldn’t get into detail about this. It’s not something I should write. It didn’t progress much, but we were breathless and both partially naked when we agreed we needed to slow down and take a moment to think. It was thrilling, amazing, and I clung to him while we lied on the sofa. I rested my head on his bare chest, listening to his heart beat, and I nuzzled in. He made comments about how I was being cuddly and I gave him a look of annoyance. He stopped and soon I felt his hand in my hair and on my back. Then I found I felt tired.

            “How about we have an actual first date?”

            Sam’s words made my heart stop. I couldn’t speak. I just nodded.

            I was in love. And I think that he was in love with me.


	14. Entry 14: Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry again this is so short otl but I had fun writing it for once Sam was really fun to write hope you like it my dudes

xx/xx/201x

 

“What is your take on soul mates?”

 

            I had no idea what was gonna happen when I got to Rafe’s. The car ride was interesting, and his place was amazing. Just like when he was a kid, he kept calling it his house but it was a goddamn mansion. I guess when you’re raised that way you just try to always live that way, huh? He let me get all settled in and for a while that’s all I could think about. Resting, eating, having an actual bed to lay in. I was in bliss, and that’s all I thought about for quite a while.

            Damn, this is nice.

            Damn, this is great.

            Damn, thank you Rafe.

            As I was getting situated, there were some things I wanted to look into. But I had no clue how to ask about it. That was my brother, Nathan. I hadn’t really heard much from Rafe, just small explanations. I know they had continued to look for the treasure, and that Rafe was still looking, but at some point Rafe just stopped mentioning Nate in the stories. So I was trying to figure out on my own. But I had no clue how to work that ridiculous internet stuff. When internet was a thing years ago, it wasn’t anything like it is now. And I had no idea what I was doing. So eventually I would have to ask him. Rafe had reassured me that Nate was fine, but that discussion I knew was not going to be fun.

            I remember I had gone to his office once. It had been about a month of me staying there. Finally, I wasn’t feeling so weak and lightheaded like I usually did when I walked around. It had been that way for years in prison – just underfed enough that I was seeing double most of the day. Rafe was at his desk and looking over some stuff. I knew it was about Avery. I was ready to get started looking, but Rafe wanted me to rest more. Seemed like he was worried about me health – he claimed he just didn’t want his best worker bee dropping dead. Of course, I knew better. If his kiss in the car meant anything, it certainly meant quite a lot about how he felt about me.

            But I got into his office, and he looked up from his work and just kinda looked at me. Neither of us really needed to say a greeting or ask questions about the other – it was pretty easy for us to talk. Talking with Rafe was easier than I expected – I could talk to him even in a way that I couldn’t with my own brother. I guess I knew that Rafe didn’t really need protecting. I mean, I felt a protective nature to Rafe, similar to how I do for Nate, but it feels different. I didn’t gotta raise Rafe. I don’t gotta protect him from the bad parts of the world.

            “How’s Nate?”

            Rafe looked a little surprise, though my guess is he was trying to keep his poker face on. That stupid Adler face ~~. He looks prettier without it.~~ He told me some stuff that I feel like I shouldn’t have believed it so easy. Rafe made a face and shrugged. He said something about Nate not replying to an email, he left a message on his phone, that Nate is probably busy. When I asked how Nate has been, Rafe said that he wasn’t really into the whole treasure business anymore. That was surprising to me. I asked if I could call him. Rafe just said that he already did so I didn’t have to worry. I figured that made sense, so I just said I would wait for Rafe to let me know more. I know Rafe gets annoyed when Nate comes up so I just tried to let that go. I was excited to talk to Nate, and while I was annoyed that I had to wait, I knew that waiting was better than nothing.

            Rafe had begun to open more and more while I was there. I could tell that he was interested, no matter how much he tried to keep it subtle. It started with little looks. I knew that if I wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at me. He always had his eyes on me, watching every move I made, looking me over. It wasn’t because he was suspicious. If he hadn’t kissed me in the car back in Panama, I maybe would have thought that. I noticed, too, that he had started to get a little touchy. In little ways. His hand would just rest on my back, my arms my shoulders. It would linger there for a while, and I would notice that Rafe was holding his breath, his eyes intense and watchful. Apparently the idea of just physical contact with me was exciting for me. He must not have had that kind of contact in his life. Nothing really intimate, anyway.

            I wasn’t sure how I felt about him, though, to be honest. I’ve always had affection for him, but even seeing him as an adult, it was confusing for me to even think of him as an adult. After a little over a month is when I began to actually consider the idea that he was thirty. Somehow he was thirty. Amazing. Aging did wonders. But I also wasn’t sure how to judge his contact. He was welcoming me, obviously having feelings. And I was just experiencing affection like that after fifteen years without any kind of amorous contact. Not even a wink or a flirt. I had some kissing, but nothing much worth talking about. This I could easily reciprocate, but what would happen if I got back into society and those feelings were lost because Rafe wasn’t the only one? It stressed me out. Rafe was tough, but he was also incredibly fragile. I saw it under that mask ~~. I didn’t want to break something so beautiful.~~

            I didn’t know how to talk about the kiss. Like, how do you bring that up? That’s just difficult. And I could see when the conversation started to turn that way, Rafe grew cold and was cutting off so I would purposely change the subject.

            Oh, but the topic of what I think of soul mates.

            I think you can find someone who completes you, but in ways you didn’t know. Like, you think you know yourself well enough, yet the person who completes you completes areas of your life that you didn’t know were broken.

            That’s how it felt when Rafe wanted to talk about the kiss, finally. I was waiting for a while to mention it. And it felt uncomfortable to bring it up if I thought he was just going to avoid the subject or walk away or cut off or get mad. I didn’t want to make that kind of risk. We were just looking over some of the Avery stuff. Finally, Rafe seemed satisfied at the idea of me getting back around to looking around. And I was more than ready to do that, and I was busying myself over everything Rafe had taken note of in Scotland. Unfortunately, there wasn’t too much to report.

            Then he spoke up. He wanted to talk about the kiss in the car. I was surprised to find that I was on edge about this instead of Rafe. He was looking at me with something in his eyes that was want, something that was obviously a desire to talk about this. So why didn’t I? I told him I didn’t want to talk if he didn’t. He wanted to talk. Great. I couldn’t figure out what the twist in my stomach was, why it felt light, why looking at him in the eye was difficult.

            That was probably the day I stopped seeing him as the kid I met and as the man sitting before me.

            We didn’t even talk. We met, arms around each other, and I kissed him. God, I remember that kiss. Rafe Adler is fragile, and I’ve seen it in his eyes. When I kissed him, I felt it in his body as I held him. He was under me, his hands pulling on my shirt, and I admit that I was liking it. I was still scared that I wouldn’t feel this later. But when I took a breath, looking down at him, his shirt pulled up and his eyes alight with joy. His hands in my hair then, up my own shirt. There was more than just a lust in his eyes and it made me feel excited. Alive. Ready. And in love.

            And damn, it might have been fifteen years in prison, but I could only think one thing.

            I think I found my soul mate.


End file.
